


An Armsman's Honour

by Rose_Milburn



Series: The AU life of Ivan Xav Vorpatril [3]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen, Vorkosigan Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-06-30 10:57:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15750282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_Milburn/pseuds/Rose_Milburn
Summary: Continuing the AU story of Ivan Vorpatril, Count Voralys...How Ivan finds one of his armsmen.





	1. 20 year man

 

Sergeant Walton, A. E., 4430171955 Imperial Rangers, sat with a splitting head and the foul taste of a hangover in his mouth as the orbital shuttle made its descent to the Vorbarr Sultana military shuttleport. The hotshot pilot managed to bounce the crate on its skids twice, rattling his back teeth for him. There was a chorus of hoots and swearwords from the rest of the poor bastards bound for home leave, redeployment, retirement or worse, by the looks of the grim-faced Service Security detachment down the back with their hapless charges. Walton just winced and sighed. It wasn’t worth his breath. Twenty years of shuttles had inured him to the vagaries of pilots. At least it wasn’t a combat drop gone wrong. _That_ was worth swearing about.

He followed the procedure for what might well be one last time. Unbuckle, form up, wait your turn, move smartly, collect kit and march into the transit office. His orders were pretty vague, report Col Ausekle Ops HQ 0800 hours dress greens. _Dress greens._ They knew how to turn the screw, didn’t they? He hadn’t worn dress greens in nearly a year. They all lived in their black combat fatigues aboard ship. He’d be up to all hours with the spit and polish bullshit. Still, if anyone was worth the spit and polish Colonel Ausekle certainly was. Officer in Command. _The_ Ranger.

The bored corporal behind the arrivals desk processed his orders. He slapped various items down on the counter. “Travel chit. Pass for the transit barracks. Map to show you where to go, half a block away from HQ. Chit for dinner tonight. Chit for breakfast tomorrow. Don’t mix them up. Next!”

The monorail wasn’t due for twenty minutes so Walton found a bench, propped his boots on his kit bag and tilted his cap over his eyes. Hopefully nobody would disturb him. Fat chance of a snooze though. There was a public vidscreen nearby and the whiny voice of the newsreader grated on his nerves. He really couldn’t give a shit about the drought in Vorlaisner’s District. He was about to move when he heard a name he knew.

“There is still grave concern held for Count Voralys, injured in that shocking incident during the Birthday ball at the Imperial Residence yesterday. As usual when the Emperor’s security is concerned details have not been released. It is believed, however, that Count Voralys intercepted an intruder. The new count has made quite a splash lately, with major developments scheduled for Prestwich and New Sheffield in Voralys District. No one at Voralys House or The Residence has been available for comment.”

_Voralys_. Oh, yes, he knew that name. He’d heard about the security scare at the residence, too. Scuttlebut was that there’d been fatalities. His mother’s messages had been full for weeks of Lord Ivan Vorpatril this and Lord Ivan Vorpatril that and what an honourable man he was. She’d actually been happy when the Emperor had created him Count Voralys.

Honour. Walton felt like spitting. _What a crock of shit._ All those Vor were only interested in themselves and what they could screw out of the proles for their friends and family _._ All his Da could talk about while he was growing up was honour, and look where it had got him. _Dead_ , that’s where. Dead and buried while he’d been orbiting Earth on the _Prince Serg_ showing the flag for Barrayar. No chance to say goodbye, no chance of making it home in time for the funeral. There wasn’t any point worrying about compassionate leave when he was six weeks away and only three months short of his twenty-year discharge. He’d stayed with his friends instead. The Rangers were closer to family than his sisters now, who were married and gone these fifteen years. Some of those friends were closer than brothers could ever be. Half the time he didn’t fight for the Vor or even the Emperor. He fought for his friends, to keep their backs safe, the same way they fought for him.

By the time the _Serg_ at last made Barrayar orbit he’d had time to think about his future. He hadn’t been doing much thinking last night, though. The RSM in the sergeant’s mess had magically produced half a case of single malt scotch whisky, smuggled aboard from Earth somehow, right past the noses of those Service Security goons sitting ten rows behind him. They’d managed to do them serious damage, polishing off five bottles between them. The sole remaining bottle was stashed in his kit right now as a farewell gift. Walton’s stomach churned at the thought. Give him a day or two. He’d do it some more damage then.

He had a month’s leave owing, plenty of time to see his mother and decide if he wanted to sign on for another twenty. Always supposing _they_ wanted him, of course. He’d find out tomorrow at his discharge interview. It was too hard to think right now. As the monorail pulled in Walton slung his kit bag and joined the queue to board.

 

Ops HQ VS…Where the captains made the coffee. His stiff collar itched. His boots pinched. At least his head was clear after a decent sleep. When he was finally escorted through what seemed like kilometres of corridor and a spartan anteroom to Colonel Ausekle’s office, it finally began to dawn on him that this was not an ordinary discharge interview.

The grizzled colonel had more campaign ribbons on his uniform than any one man had any right to. Regimental lore had it he’d been at the conquest of Komarr as a fresh-faced ensign and every battle since. The old man looked up from behind his desk. “At ease, Walton. Thank you for coming in. I’ve been looking at your service record. Twenty years, eh? Well done. Do you have any firm plans? Another twenty, perhaps? We can always use good men.”

“I’ve been considering, Colonel. Since my father’s death my circumstances have changed somewhat. I’m not sure about anything anymore. I need to talk to my family before I make a decision.”

Colonel Ausekle scrolled through some data on his vid screen. “Ah, yes. A bad business, that. We might never get the whole story, of course. It’s even classified above _my_ head. ImpSec hauled you in over it, I see, but you’re still with us. No black marks of any sort as far as I can tell. Nor should there be.”

Walton bristled. That interview still rankled, and badly. “I’ve never been on the wrong end of fast-penta before, sir. Service Security is one thing, but _ImpSec_ …”

Ausekle inclined his head. “Where the Emperor’s safety is concerned we all have to be prepared to bow to the inevitable. And so you have a new District, in name at least, and a new count. How do you feel about that?” The colonel looked at his face to gauge his expression. “You can speak freely.”

“ _Any_ count would have to be better than the man my father gave his name’s word to. It broke his heart, I think, to serve a man like that. He was oath-sworn to the old count, first, who was an honourable man, so he knew the difference. As for this new one we’ve got now, well, I suppose my mother speaks quite highly of Count Voralys.”

“So you have no lingering loyalty to Count Vorclarence. Good. There’s a _but_?”

He was sharp, the old man. He’d seen the hesitation. “ _But_ who is he, sir, this Count Voralys? A high Vor playboy, polishing a chair here in Ops? Related to the Emperor? He hasn’t even seen any active service.”

The colonel acknowledged his doubts. “You think it was traditional Vor nepotism, do you? Vorpatril never made any waves when he was here at HQ, that’s true. He was, however, awarded an Imperial Gold Star, and if he’d still been in the service he’d be in line for another one, after the events of the last few days. Make no mistake. He’s a very brave man.”

Walton was keenly aware of the Silver Star on his own chest and knew what that had taken to earn, first to last. Voralys must have _something_ going for him. “If you say so, sir. I’m not in a position to judge.”

Auskele shuffled some papers and pressed a button on his comconsole. “I’ve been asked to evaluate you for the possibility of an appointment and I’m happy to recommend you. There’s going to be another interview, but not here.”

He was being very cagey. Walton could sense something…odd. “What kind of appointment, sir?”

The colonel cleared his throat. “It’s not for me to say. Major Karasavas from ImpSec will take you to it. He’ll be waiting for you in the antechamber. Good luck with whatever you decide, Walton. There’s always a place for you in the Imperial Rangers. Don’t be afraid to say no and come back to us.” He handed over a code card. “Arrange with my secretary a time to see me if you do choose to re-enlist. We’ll have to see about another posting for you.”

Somewhat mystified, Walton saluted and marched out. _ImpSec_. He never wanted to see another ImpSec face again. There was a major waiting for him in the antechamber, slim, dark and unsmiling, the eyes of Horus pins on his collar proclaiming him to be this ImpSec man Auskele had spoken about. _Shit_. No avoiding him. He came back to attention. “Major Karasavas, sir?”

He was subjected to a cool scrutiny. “Sergeant Walton? I knew your father. You have the look of him.”

“You were in New Sheffield, sir?”

Karasavas nodded. “I’m posted there. I saw him frequently over several months and was close by when he died. I’m not permitted to speak about it but you can be very proud of him. I’ve got transport waiting if you’d like to follow me.”

It was a politely worded order. Walton had given up trying to second guess what was going on. He just followed half a step behind Karasavas as they made their silent way out of the building. The ImpSec major looked…not angry, but something was troubling him. Concerned, perhaps? Worried. Definitely worried. There were two creases between his pulled-down eyebrows. Once they were settled in an unmarked ImpSec ground car, Walton decided to ask him.

“Is something wrong, sir?”

“What? Oh, yes. Sorry, Walton. There’s always something. Nothing concerning you at this stage, however.”

And that was all he got out of him. Walton idly watched as the streets of Vorbarr Sultana passed the tinted windows of the ground car. They were in the Old Town, heading for… _shit._

_They were heading for The Residence._

Security was tight. They were scanned three times. Karasavas accompanied him as far as a room with a bland secretary, who looked up as they entered. An armsman, tall and menacing in his black and silver livery, loomed next to an inner door.

“Sergeant Walton? Good. Please take a seat. The Emperor will see you shortly.”

The _Emperor_? Emperor Gregor Vorbarra wanted to see _him_? Walton looked down at his uniform, checking for any fault. Dress greens. Right. Now he understood. He started sweating. He looked at the major in alarm.

“What the hell do I do?”

“March in, salute, stand to attention until told otherwise. Tell the truth. He won’t eat you.”

_Easy for him to say_. Luckily it was only a few minutes before the secretary beckoned him over and rose to open the inner door. “Sergeant Adrian Walton, Sire.”

The door shut behind him; Walton swallowed hard as he saluted. The Emperor looked up from his desk. He wore a very plain dark suit, almost stark in its simplicity. Only a few years younger than himself, his lean face held little evidence of any expression or interest other than a bland neutrality.

“At ease, Sergeant. Thank you for coming.”

Well, that was an impossible order from the leader of three worlds. Walton managed a very stiff parade rest. The Emperor leant back in his seat and regarded him gravely.

“We are very sorry for the loss of your father, Sergeant Walton. He died honourably.”

“So I’ve been told, your Majesty,” he managed to blurt out.

“What do you know about it all?”

“Only that. I presume he died defending Count Vorclarence. He was oath-sworn to do so.”

“Ah, no. It was quite the contrary.” The Emperor stood. “Come and sit down, Sergeant.” He led the way over to a grouping of chairs and couches by the window. Walton waited for him to choose a seat with his back to the light and then sat very uncomfortably himself on the edge of a hard chair.

“This is classified, of course, and you will not repeat anything said here, but you do have a right to know. Count Vorclarence committed treason. He gave his armsmen an illegal order to assassinate Lord Vorkosigan, Our Lord Auditor. This is after a failed assassination attempt on Our person. Very properly your father refused to comply, although it caused him a great deal of personal agony to do so, Lord Vorkosigan mentions in his report. Vorclarence had ordered the Municipal Guard to hold several hostages to ensure his Armsmen’s compliance. Your mother was one of them.”

He waited a moment as Walton struggled to digest what he’d just heard. _His mother, in a prison cell?_

The Emperor continued _. “_ He later stood between Count Vorclarence and Our team attempting to rescue another two female hostages, trying to shield them. The count killed him with a shot from a plasma arc.”

If he hadn’t been sitting down he would have fallen down. _Vorclarence_ had killed his Da? After more than twenty years’ loyal service? Walton could feel the blood running from his face. The Emperor continued.

“Lord Ivan Vorpatril was the leader of the rescue team at the time. Your father saved his life and later in the day Lord Vorpatril avenged his death.”

There was a much bigger story he wasn’t being told here. Walton struggled to think of something intelligent to say. “Is that why you invested him with the countship, Sire?”

“Only partly. He’s a very worthy man. He’s been doing excellent work in the district already.”

“No doubt.” 

He’d meant that to sound neutral but the Emperor looked at him sharply. “You don’t approve?”

How to put this? Oh, to hell with it. “No-one needs _me_ to approve, Sire. The Vor will do what the Vor do best. I can think of hundreds of very worthy men. District men. Count Voralys has obviously been well-rewarded for his loyalty.”

_Good one_. Piss off the Emperor when you’ve only met him three minutes ago. The Emperor’s gaze lingered coldly and his lips thinned. “You think he’s been well-rewarded? Come with me, Sergeant Walton.” He sprang to his feet, palmed open the door and marched into the outer office. The sudden shift in behaviour was bewildering. Walton could tell by the scramble that the Emperor’s actions were entirely unexpected. A squad of armsmen bolted from their ready-room to assist the one stationed outside the door. That armsman looked surprised.

“Sire? Your next app—”

“Not, now, Gerard. Come with me.”

With two black-clad armsmen ahead of them and two following they swept along the corridors from the north wing through to the entrance hall leading to the Great Square. ImpSec guards in their dress greens sprang to instant alert but the Emperor turned sharply away from the public areas and down another corridor to a pair of swing doors. The smell of antiseptic and change of flooring from ancient parquet to hospital grade sealed plas-med were enough of a clue before he saw the sign. _Infirmary. No unauthorised entry._

The armsman the Emperor had called Gerard darted ahead of them. He was back in a few moments. “All clear.”

The Emperor nodded. “Follow me, Sergeant. The rest of you wait here.”

Outside an inner door leading to a separate section a Count’s armsman, dressed in dark blue and silver livery, stood to attention. Inside, the atmosphere was hushed in the small intensive care ward. A single cubicle was occupied, the only sound the hiss of a ventilator and the faint beep of a heart monitor. A tall figure lay very still on the bed, his eyes taped shut and a ventilator tube disappearing into his mouth. Other lines delivered saline and blood. More ominously, more blood lines led to a large machine pulsing away to one side. Whoever this was, he wasn’t in good shape.

There was a woman sitting by the head of the bed. She was dark eyed and beautiful. Those dark eyes were swimming with tears though, and the strain on her face was almost palpable. The Emperor walked over to press her back into her seat as she started to rise. She smiled weakly at him. “No change, Sire. He’s holding his own…just.”

The Emperor looked at Walton and indicated the supine figure. He spoke quietly, but the intensity of his words and the bright look in his eye told their own story. “Sergeant Walton, meet Lord Ivan Vorpatril, Count Voralys. You can see for yourself how _well-rewarded_ he is for his loyalty and service to the Imperium. The poison he’s fighting now was meant for Us. This is the second time he’s been seriously wounded saving Our life this year.”

Walton looked down at the still figure. There was a lot to say for just being an ordinary grunt, wasn’t there? “I’m sorry, Sire. He obviously means a great deal to you. I’d heard something, at the shuttleport, while I was waiting for the monorail. I didn’t realise it was this serious.”

The Emperor took hold of the count’s hand for a moment, looking down at him in an imponderable silence. Finally he spoke.

“Neurotoxin is always serious. _Deadly_ serious.” He squeezed the hand and laid it gently back down on the bed. “We would like to avoid this in the future. Count Voralys will be needing some more armsmen when he recovers. You can see for yourself the job is no sinecure. We would like you to think about it.”

Walton nearly fell over with shock. “ _Me_ , Sire? But—”

“We’ll discuss it outside.” The Emperor bent to kiss the woman on the cheek. “Stay strong, Raine. He’s going to pull through. Ivan doesn’t have Our permission to do anything otherwise.”

She smiled weakly. “I’ll tell him so, when he wakes up.”

Back in the hall, The Emperor let out a long breath. “We’d like to send you to Voralys House with Our recommendation. The senior armsman, Fox, will explain the life to you, but you have had inside experience already, growing up with an armsman as a father. There is absolutely no compulsion, of course, but We would like to honour your father’s sacrifice and give you the option to continue your family’s proud tradition of service. Count Voralys needs experienced, qualified men. This time you can be sure, if you do decide to take oath, that your liege lord will be a man well worthy of your trust, just as We are convinced he will find you to be well-equipped to be an armsman. You’ll want to talk to your mother, of course. My secretary will make arrangements for you to travel to New Sheffield to see her.”

The Emperor held out his hand. “Thank you, Sergeant Walton, for your service. We are only requesting. It’s not a Request and Require. The choice is entirely yours. Good luck with whatever you decide to do with the rest of your life.”

Major Karasavas reappeared at his elbow. “If you would come with me, Sergeant? Our transport is waiting for us.”

Walton noticed his lingering glance at the closed doors of the Infirmary. Count Voralys really mattered to this hard-bitten ImpSec major, didn’t he, as he so very obviously did to the Emperor as well.

 

Voralys House was much as he remembered it back when it had been Vorclarence House. The décor was different and there was still a lingering smell of fresh paint as he was led past the dining room. He’d stayed nearby in the armsman’s married quarters with his parents and visited as a small boy. The layout was still the same, but he’d only ever seen this ground floor and the staff wing, of course. Major Karasavas introduced him to the count’s Secretary, Philip Nicolaides, and his senior armsman, Marcus Fox, a tall, unsmiling man with the look of an ex-serviceman. More than that. He looked like a policeman. Service Security, he’d bet. Walton matched him for height, his build was much the same, even the eyes and dark hair, but Fox had that same look of worry in his brown eyes he’d seen in Karasavas. They shook hands in a business-like manner.

“Thanks for coming.”

“You’re the third person to say that to me today. I haven’t had much say in it, so far. _Thanks_ implies I’ve made a choice.”

He sounded…ungracious…he knew, but he’d never much liked being forced into a course of action. This was no different. Fox didn’t take offence.

“I know that feeling. It’s a bit like a boulder rolling down a hill. Come and find something to eat, and we’ll let the major get back to his work.”

The kitchen was different. It smelled _homely_. Spices and warmth, and an air of welcome. The cook smiled at him as Fox made the introductions.

“You look like you need a good cup of tea, or would you prefer coffee? There’s gingerbread, just made, or apple pie. Why not both?” She bustled around and set a place at the scrubbed table. With a quick glance at Fox she set a second.

Walton hadn’t realised how tired he was. It wasn’t even lunch time yet and he felt like he’d been chewed up through a mincer and spat out the other side. He needed to mend some fences with Fox, too. “I’m sorry I was bad-tempered just then. It’s been a stressful day.”

“Don’t worry about it. I understand. Everyone is on edge right now.”

After a swig of tea and two mouthfuls of the best apple pie he’d ever eaten, Walton ventured to ask a question. “How did you get to be an armsman, Fox?”

Fox smiled for the first time. “Lord Vorpatril, as he was then, hauled me out of a prison cell in Rotherhall. I’d been beaten up by some of Vorclarence’s goons. After twenty years in Service Security I ended up on the wrong side of the bars on my fourth day back in the District after my discharge. His lordship made the captain of the Rotherhall Municipal Guard change places with me. It was…refreshing to see an honest man in action. I knew then I’d like to work for him, but armsman was a big decision. How long since you’ve been back to the District?”

“Four years, on my last long leave. I didn’t know whether to spit or cry. My father was being destroyed by Vorclarence. I couldn’t wait to get out of the place.”

“It’s different now. Lord Vorpatril blew Vorclarence to bits with his own grenade; one that he’d stolen from the Imperial armoury.”

“He did?” Walton took another swallow. He wouldn’t have thought twice about doing that himself, if he’d had the chance. “The Emperor told me he’d avenged my father’s death. He didn’t say how.”

“After that, once he’d been appointed count, some lunatic woman tried to kill him with a handgun, of all things. She would have succeeded, too, if his ImpSec bodyguard hadn’t stood in the way of the bullet. He was killed. Don’t think this job is a cushy number. You’ll need to be on your guard at all times.”

“I saw the count in the Infirmary this morning, before I came here. I know it’s not a cushy number. What happened to him?”

“He intercepted a traitor who was heading for the Emperor carrying a knife coated in poison. If the Count survives he’s probably going to need a liver transplant. They’re trying to grow him one now. He’d just asked his girl to marry him, not half an hour previously, which is why I wasn’t breathing down his neck. He wanted some privacy with her, and it was The Residence, after all. Supposed to be as safe as houses. _Safer_ even.”

Fox stared down into his tea. His face turned grim. “I should have been there. I was only fifty metres away. The count had sent me to guard the Emperor.” He looked up, death in his face. “He sacrificed his own safety to make sure the Emperor was guarded properly. It is _never_ going to happen again.”

Walton didn’t know what to say to that. Better to change the subject. “His girl. Is she a tall girl, real beauty, Dark hair, dark eyes?”

“That’s the one. Was she still there? She promised she’d come home with Kosa, but he turned up on his own three hours ago. Harper has the shift just now. You would have seen him.”

Walton nodded and Fox continued. “She’s been there all night. Simon Illyan will bring her home, when he takes Lady Vorpatril in to sit with her son. _He_ doesn’t take any nonsense.”

Walton nearly choked on his tea. “Simon Illyan? _The_ Simon Illyan?”

“ _The_ Simon Illyan. He practically lives here. Near enough the count’s step father as makes no difference. You’re not going to be bored in this job, if you take it. You’ll see all sorts of people. There’s an adopted daughter, too. Marie is the biggest sweetheart you ever saw, daughter of an old shipmate of mine who was killed on the _Kanzian_.”

The cook, Ma Belka, had been listening to some of the conversation as she went about her work. She spoke as she came over to refill their tea cups. “Count Voralys is the kindest man alive. He’s been so good to me and my Darek. We’d do anything for him, we would.” She swallowed down a sob and wiped a hand across her eyes. “We’re so worried. He has to come home. He just _has_ to. They won’t be feeding him right in that place. I don’t care what anybody says.”

Walton thought of the motionless figure in the bed, only breathing because some machine was pumping the air in to him. Eating was the least of his troubles. “I haven’t heard a bad word said about him. He can’t be a perfect angel, surely?”

Fox glanced at the cook who’d gone back to cutting vegetables and lowered his voice. “Perfect angel? He’s certainly not that. More of a randy _devil_ , actually. Biggest ladies’ man in Vorbarr Sultana, or so I’ve heard, or _was_ , before he met his match. Love ’em and leave ’em, no hard feelings. Not the marrying sort. — _Half his luck_.” He thought for a moment and spoke a little louder. “He’d have been a good officer, though. He was a captain in Ops when I met him. The Emperor had appointed him as temporary Auditor.”

“Dreadful driver, my aunt told me,” Ma Belka added, pretending she hadn’t heard about his reputation. “She’s cook to Lord Vorkosigan. They’re cousins. His lordship won’t go in a ground car with him. Scares him to death, so she says.”

Fox got back to business. “There are some more candidates coming in over the next couple of days. We’re still ten armsmen short. There’ll be at least four of you to go through the courses and whatnot together, if you all accept, more, if you can think of anyone from the District. You shouldn’t have much trouble with them, being a Ranger. We could really do with you, but it’s for you and Count Voralys to decide between you, of course, in the end. Come on, I’ll show you your quarters for the night and you can get that kit off. Fatigues will do fine. At least _our_ dress uniforms are comfortable. Major Karasavas told me you can travel down to New Sheffield with him tomorrow, if you want.”

Walton took his plate and cup over to the dishwasher. “Thank you for the pie, Ma Belka. Best I’ve had in years. Ever, probably.”

She took the crockery away from him with a smile. “The staff all eat well, same as the family. It feels like one big family here sometimes. Don’t you forget that.”

He smiled at her. “I can see that. Thanks again.”

 

 


	2. Homecomings

 

 

They’d tried to make him comfortable but Walton was totally over being on his best behaviour. That bottle of scotch in his kit was calling to him. He sat in an ImpSec flyer next to Major Karasavas, on their way to New Sheffield. He was just about over _Saint Ivan_ , too, truth be told. Sure, he felt sorry for the poor bugger stuck between death and life while the doctors scrambled to work out how to fix him, but everybody associated with the man had put him on some sort of pedestal. He _was_ just a man, after all, not some charismatic god to be worshipped. No, he’d didn’t think being an armsman was for him. He’d just visit his mother for a week or two and then probably sign on for another twenty with the Rangers. Being an armsman took a major commitment. It wasn’t just a job, after all, although there was nothing magical about it and it was probably boring as all hell, standing around all day waiting for nothing to happen, but there was the oath. The oath made it very special indeed.

“So, you’re not going to take the post, then?” Karasavas asked, out of the blue. He _was_ ImpSec, after all. Those weasels all had ESP, he was sure. “The Emperor will be disappointed.”

Walton shrugged. “I haven’t completely decided but I doubt it’s for me. I could probably do the work as it’s a bit like the Rangers, actually, but at least they get to move around and see new places.” _And kill the bad guys_ but he didn’t think he should say that aloud.

“Not even when the Emperor wants you to do it?”

What was this? Trying to make him have a guilt trip, or a subtle accusation he was being disloyal? “I’ve served the Emperor to the best of my ability for twenty years. I never thought I’d actually get to meet him, or shake his hand. _He_ said there was no compulsion.”

Karasavas eased back. “True. It’s a job for life, not just twenty years. You could make a big difference, though. The District needs more people like you and Fox. Probity; that’s what’s required now, and that’s what Count Voralys has got in spades. Upright leadership and upright behaviour from his armsmen will see the District recover in short order. He _has_ to recover. We need him. Count Voralys had only just started to turn things around before this all happened.”

“I think he’ll recover. That last bulletin didn’t have him any worse, unless you know something different?”

Karasavas shook his head. He didn’t say anything more but Walton saw the worry lines between his eyes deepen fractionally.

 

The ImpSec flyer set down on the roof of the District office. Walton hauled his kit bag down the lift tube to a ground car that was waiting outside the front steps. He looked around curiously as they walked out into the open air of the square. Despite the cold nip in the air there were flowers everywhere, especially round a bulletin board that was set up to one side of the front door. Karasavas saw his look and explained. “There’s an official notice posted twice a day, updating the news. People are really worried about their new count. They like him round here.”

Walton shook his head. “I can’t imagine anyone doing that sort of thing for Vorclarence.”

“You’re right about that.” Karasavas drove off slowly across the square. He didn’t need any maps, Walton noted. It was only a couple of minutes before they pulled up outside his mother’s home, pretty much directly behind the District residence. It would have been quicker to walk. He was surprised to see where they were.

“Is my mother still living in the armsmen’s quarters? I would have thought she’d have to move.”

Suddenly Karasavas reminded him that the major was wearing Horus eyes. He’d forgotten for the minute when the man had sounded half human. The major’s voice now was icy cold. “Some of the _others_ have moved, of course, but not the ones loyal to the Emperor. There’s no hurry. She can stay as long as she wants. There’s no point having quarters standing empty when there’s such a shortage of accommodation in Prestwich, so all of these are full, temporarily, but not with armsmen’s families. There’d be one available for you if you needed it without putting your mother out of her home. You’re not married, though. You’d just live in.”

It was a statement, not a question. Karasavas knew all about him. He popped the canopy. “Do you mind if I come in with you, to say hello to your mother? I’ve met her a couple of times.”

Once more, it was a very politely worded order. It was easiest just to play along. “Of course. Why not?”

Mrs Walton came to the door dressed in her mourning black, a faintly shabby long black skirt and bolero over a white blouse. Her whole face changed at the sight of her son. She threw her arms around him and let out a wordless cry. Walton let his mother sob into his shoulder for a moment or two, and then eased her away. She took some shuddering breaths.

“Adrian! How wonderful! You’ve come home. Come in, come in.”

“It’s good to see you, Ma.”

She pulled herself together. “I’m so _happy_ to see you, Adrian. And here’s Major Karasavas, too! Are you coming in? Can you stay?”

Karasavas took off his cap and ducked into the house as Ma Walton held the door wide for him.“Just for a moment or two. I wanted to see if the repair to the kitchen cupboard was holding up.”

“Oh, it’s just fine; come on through. You’ve been so kind. How is that new baby coming along? It must be so exciting for you.”

“All the reports are good, so far, ma’am. He’s cooking along very nicely. We’ll get to meet him in about six months.”

“So hard to understand, these new machines. You’d be used to such things, Adrian, flying all over the nexus like you do, but they’re strange still, here, in New Sheffield.”

“Uterine replicators? I’ve never seen one, but I’ve heard of them, of course. Not much call for them on the _Prince Serg,_ Ma.”

His mother had to laugh. “No, I don’t suppose so. The major has been so kind to me since your father died, Adrian. You wouldn’t believe. He comes round to see me nearly every week when he’s here in New Sheffield.”

“He does?” Walton tried to keep the surprise out of his voice, but he could feel himself tensing. “Why would he want to do a thing like that?” He gave the major a long, cool look.

“Count Voralys asked me to keep an eye on your mother, to make sure she was comfortable. There have been a few repercussions in the District since Vorclarence’s downfall. It’s been a pleasure as well as a duty to call on her.”

His mother laid a hand on his arm. “There’s so much to tell you, Adrian.”

Major Karasavas tested the swing on the cupboard door. “This hinge is holding just fine, ma’am. I’ll leave you two to talk, if there’s nothing else you need and there have been no other problems. You must have lots to say to each other.” He pulled out a code card and handed it over. “Sergeant Walton, if you could report to my office towards the end of your leave we can arrange your further orders, either transport back to Ops HQ or your discharge papers, whichever you prefer. Come and see me if you need any help with anything else, too. I’ll see myself out.”

Walton went to the door with him anyway, still trying to work out the major’s motivation. ImpSec didn’t do _anything_ out of the goodness of their hearts. He watched the ground car drive off and disappear round the corner before he went back. His mother had started to make tea by the time he returned. She stopped what she was doing to hug him again. “I’m so glad to have you home again, Adrian. Your father…he was so proud of you.”

“What did Karasavas mean just now, Ma, when he said there had been repercussions? Is he talking about official repercussions, or pay back?”

She looked at him uncertainly. “Pay back, but no one has tried to harm _me_.”

“Who, then?”

She shrugged. “The armsmen had to do some unpleasant things. They were under orders. Your father hated—”

He felt the hairs stand up on his neck. “Just tell me what’s happened.”

She sighed. “Where to start? It’s mostly just threats. Trina Williams had her windows broken. Her husband did a lot of Count Vorclarence’s dirty work for him. He was killed in the fighting in the District office. She’s moved away now; gone to live with a daughter near Prestwich, and things have settled down. I think she’s glad to be out of it. Count Voralys has let her keep her widow’s pension, though. He didn’t have to do that. Seth Williams tried to kill him, after all. Major Karasavas thought that seeing the ImpSec car around would make people think twice.”

He rubbed his face with his hand. “How many of the armsmen were killed, all up?”

“Just the three of them. The two who were hiding with Vorclarence, Seth Williams and Archie Blandford, and your father. The other two who refused to kill the Lord Auditor are working in the Municipal Guard, now, one here, that’s Zac Sheridan, and one in Prestwich, Geordie Chalmers. The rest are under detention. Everything still has to be sorted out.”

“Is it true you were held in the Municipal Guard cells?”

She nodded unhappily. “It was awful, Adrian. We were there for three days. Nobody hurt us, but I think…I think they might have. Lord Auditor Vorkosigan got us out.”

Walton sat down to drink his tea. “It’s a mess, isn’t it?”

“It was in a fair way to getting settled, before this awful thing happened. Do you know how the Count is?”

He nodded. “The Emperor took me to see him. It doesn’t look very good, Ma. I wouldn’t be getting your hopes up for him to be back soon. I don’t think he’ll die, but he’s very sick.”

She’d been standing at the stove, fiddling with the teakettle but at this news she sat down rather suddenly at the table. Her eyes filled with tears again, but not of joy this time.

“Oh, no! He’s such a nice young man. He came to see me personally, you know, to say thankyou for Bart’s sacrifice. He even brought the Emperor to the funeral, and paid for it all to be done proper. I never thought I’d get to see the Emperor like that.”

“There was a reason the Emperor called me in to speak to him. He asked me if I’d like to be an armsman, in Da’s honour.”

Her whole face lit up with pleasure, before she tried to tamp down her reaction.

“Are you going to?”

She _so_ wanted him to do it, didn’t she? Even after all that had happened.

“I haven’t made my mind up, completely. I thought I might go back to the Rangers. How would you feel about that?”

She looked down at the table and fiddled with her fingers.

“Ma?”

His mother bit her lip. “You have to do what’s best for you, son.”

She was evading the question. He tried to press the point. “But?”

She looked up and sighed. “But I _miss_ you, Adrian. If you took oath as armsman you’d be no further away than Vorbarr Sultana, most of the time. We could talk on the vid. You might get the chance to find a nice girl, at last. Settle, just a bit. It would be like being a soldier, still serving.”

“I could apply for home duty. An Ops post. I’d still be in Vorbarr Sultana.”

“And sit at a desk all day?”

Walton thought of the bored corporal at the shuttleport, who stamped his passes and repeated the same directions to the sixty men on his shuttle, and the next one, and the next one…

“No, you’re right. That wouldn’t work. Let me think about it some more, Ma. I might go and talk to the armsman who went to the Municipal Guard. What was his name again?”

“Zac Sheridan. He sends patrols around to the quarters here quite often. You might like to thank him for me, if you do go to see him.”

“I remember him. He used to play darts with Da.”

“Yes, That’s the one. He’s a good man, but he’s had a sad life, with one thing and another.”

Walton made up his mind. “I’ll go and see him tomorrow.”

 

It was strange, lying in his old bedroom. It was so quiet. On the old _Prince Serg_ there was always at least the hum of a fan circulating air. Even in the barracks in Vorbarr Sultana, or at Voralys House, there’d been the faint murmur of traffic, the soft footfall of guards on patrol, and the whisper of changing shifts. He was almost asleep, drifting off, when he at last heard a sound. It was close by. Instantly wide awake he rolled off the bed onto his bare feet, breathing through his mouth. His combat knife was still packed in his kit. Cursing himself for a fool he padded silently over to the door. There it came again. He eased the old-fashioned door open on its hinges, praying it wouldn’t squeak. He could sense there was no one in the tiny hallway and slipped out.

A low sob sounded again. Crying? His mother was _crying_. Walton leaned back against the wall. The tension flowed out of him to be replaced by guilt. “ _Oh, Ma_.”

The guilt nearly crushed him as he listened to her. His Ma hadn’t deserved any of this and he’d never lifted a finger to help her since he’d left for basic training the day after he’d turned eighteen. What to do? He raised his hand to knock at her door but paused. Would she thank him? _No_. He hovered for a moment, indecisive, and then backed off softly.

Dawn had started to dilute the darkness before he closed his eyes. By the time he woke up again the room was bright with light. He looked at his chrono and groaned. 0900 hours. He hadn’t slept this late since he’d last been on leave. His mother was cleaning in the kitchen when he made it out of the bathroom. Everything was already spotless. There was a place set for his breakfast, and water simmering on the stove, ready for tea.

“Morning, love. I heard you in the shower. What would you like for breakfast? I’m sure you have lots of washing, too. I can get on to that while you’re eating, if you like.”

“What I’d like is for you to sit down and have a cup of tea with me. I’ve been thinking.”

He waited until she’d poured him a big mug and sat down with him. “I’ve made a decision. I’m not going back to the Rangers. Has there been any news overnight about Count Voralys?”

“The bulletin says _guarded optimism_ , whatever that means.” She looked at him directly. “Are you sure this is what you want, Adrian? I’d hate you to give up what you love for me.”

He squeezed her hand. “It’s what I want, Ma. I might arrange to go back to the capital and give the armsman’s job a real trial, say for a week or so, actually do some of the work and see how I go. Count Voralys will have the final say, of course. He might not like me.”

“What’s not to like?”

Walton just smiled. “I meant to be up earlier. I thought we might go and burn an offering at Da’s grave, if that’s all right with you, and then I’ll call in and see if I can talk to Zac Sheridan today and find out about the Municipal Guard. That might be an option, too.”

She smiled at him. “I’d like to do that very much, son.”

Walton changed into his dress greens one last time and called up a cab to take them out to the cemetery. He carried the small brass bowl and stand, and his mother had a bag with apple bark, twigs and wood shavings. They’d cut their hair when they got there. New Sheffield didn’t run to autocabs and the driver who arrived to pick them up flicked a discreet look at Walton’s uniform as he held the canopy open for his mother. It was a quick trip with little traffic on the roads late in the morning and they arrived at the gates of the cemetery in less than five minutes. The driver switched on the intercom.

“I’m due a break. I’ll just pull over here and wait for you to go back. Take your time. No charge.” He pulled out a data recorder and flipped to a news link as he settled down to wait.

His mother leant on his arm as they walked through the quiet paths of the cemetery. The weather was fine but cool, weak sunlight filtering through the trees. Leaves had started to fall, crunching underfoot. Walton snatched one as it came down. He’d add it to the brazier.

It wasn’t far to the graveside, still fresh and raw with bare earth making an ugly brown gash in the lawn. Walton felt her grip tighten and her steps falter as they approached.

“He’s at peace, Ma. He lived the best life he could and he loved you.”

She only wiped her eyes the once. “He was a good man, Adrian, and he loved you, too. You’re very like him. You’re right. He’s at peace.”

There was something proper about standing there. They added clips of hair to the bark, twigs and leaf in the brazier. He held his mother’s hand as they lit it together, watching the flames die down and the smoke drift up and away. Walton stood to attention and saluted until the smoke dissipated. His Da had always been a very straightforward man. Right was right and wrong was wrong with him, always. He had no more impossible choices to make now. He could rest quietly.

They said nothing in the cab on the way back. Back at the house Walton helped his mother out and then dug into his pocket for his wallet.

“No charge,” the driver said.

He couldn’t have heard him right. “What?”

“No charge for you, Sergeant. You’ve got the Hegen Hub ribbon on your chest. My oldest boy was with Lord Vorbretten. He’d have been about your age, I would guess. Like I said, no charge. You have a good day.”

With a smile and a wave the cabbie drove off. Walton stood and stared after him, utterly…gobsmacked.

His mother spoke from behind him. “That was nice of him.”

“Yeah, it was, wasn’t it? I’m not sure what to make of it. We’re still in New Sheffield, aren’t we?”

His mother slid her arm round his waist and gave him a brief hug. “Don’t sound so surprised. People have changed, Adrian. They can afford to be generous these days. They can afford to buy a bunch of flowers if they want to, even. He knew a hero when he saw one. I’m so sorry he lost his boy, though. He must think about him every day.”

She made a little shooing motion with her hands. “Why don’t I go on in and make a start on dinner and you can go and see Zac? Go have some lunch in the square, look around and see how things have changed. Give Zac my best wishes, remember, and thank him.”

 

 


	3. Decisions

 

 

The Municipal Guard building squatted like a giant grey bug on the north-west side of the town square. Apart from early in the morning it was in constant shadow. The small windows on the front were completely polarised, letting people look out but not in, reinforcing the appearance of compound eyes staring at the passers-by. It wasn’t the sort of place anyone liked to turn their back on. Most people walked around the other three sides of the square rather than go the direct route past it. Walton had never voluntarily gone in there in his life. The only worse building he’d ever seen was mad old architect Dono Vorrutyer’s ImpSec building in the capital, and that one had no windows at all.

He squared his shoulders and marched up the front steps. A patrolman at the front desk looked up from his vid screen. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t look much like a boogeyman, either. “Good afternoon, Sergeant. What can the Municipal Guard do for the Imperial Rangers today?” He sounded quite ordinary, if a little bored. Walton knew they were here, but there were no signs of cells, shock-sticks or tangle-fields anywhere. The place didn’t even smell bad. It gave all the appearances of an ordinary office. Appearances could lie, though.

“My name is Adrian Walton. My father was an armsman with—”

“With the new Chief. There was a rumour that you were around. I should have realised it was you. If you could take a seat I’ll let him know you’re here.”

“Thanks. I’ll just stand, though.”

The patrolman tilted his head, a sardonic look on his face. “Easier to run, that way, isn’t it? I don’t think the chief will be long.” He pressed some buttons and spoke quietly into the vid pickup. It was only a few moments before a figure appeared in the lift tube and the man he remembered as Armsman Sheridan stepped out.

“Adrian! Good to see you. I’m sorry it isn’t under better circumstances.” He paused to shake hands before clapping Walton on the shoulder and giving him a squeeze. “I’m really sorry about Bart, but come on up. We can’t stand around talking in the foyer. Have you had lunch?”

The only thing that had changed was the uniform. Sheridan wore a no-nonsense dark blue outfit with three stripes on the shoulders and silver oak leaves on the collar. His short dark hair was greying badly now, and there were new lines on his face, Walton noticed, once he’d had the chance to give him a better look. The desk patrolman gave them both a respectful nod as they walked back over to the _up_ tube.

“I’ll get some sandwiches sent in. I’m really glad of the interruption, I must say. I was doing some contingency planning.”

“Contingency for what, sir?”

Sheridan gave him a shrewd glance. “In case we get bad news. And don’t call me sir. I’m Zac.”

“Oh, the Count. I saw him yesterday. He doesn’t look good. They’re all very worried.”

“You _saw_ him? How did you get into the Residence Infirmary? I heard it was off limits.” Sheridan ushered him into a spacious office and pulled over a chair for him. He pressed a button on his desk and sent a faceless minion off to rustle up some food before he sank down in a chair next to the window and put his feet up on the low table between them. “So tell me?”

“The Emperor took me in to see him. I was pretty shocked at the Emperor asking to see me in the first place, and then…well, I said the wrong thing. I implied the Count had been well-rewarded for his loyalty and his Majesty hauled me off to the Infirmary to show me just how well-rewarded he’d really been. I think he was pretty pissed off with me right then.”

“That would have been…disconcerting.”

Walton let out a short laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. I thought he was taking me out to the Great Square to have my head chopped off. He took me to Count Voralys instead, and then he asked me if I would like to be an armsman.”

That brought Sheridan’s attention back to him in full force. His feet hit the floor with a thud. “He did? Even after—“ He stopped, abruptly, obviously trying to think of what he could say.

“After Da was killed.”

“After what Vorclarence had already made us do. We drew the line at killing the Lord Auditor, but we’d done some bad things before that, Adrian. I mean really bad. I’m totally ashamed of some of the things we did. Standover tactics, extortion, roughing people up, to name just some. Seth Williams and a couple of the others even murdered for him, I think. It’s not the Time of Isolation any more. We should have stopped earlier, but that was the final straw. We couldn’t go through with _that_. No one kills an Imperial Auditor and thinks to live. Bart took all the flak, though. He was the one they came to when they needed help, when Vorclarence was cornered. I don’t think he minded dying. Don’t repeat this to your mother but I think he might not have ducked if he saw a plasma bolt heading his way, if you know what I mean. His oath was like ashes in his mouth, he said.”

“That would be Da. Oh, and before I forget, now that you’ve mentioned her, my mother sends her best regards and I’m to be sure and say thank you for the patrols you send round. _I’m_ grateful, too, that you’re looking out for her.”

“I’d do anything for your Ma, Adrian. You know that. When my Jaana died she fed me for a month.”

“I’d forgotten about that. I was probably out past Escobar at the time, but Ma did write and tell me. It must be what? Three years ago?”

“Very nearly four. The drunk who killed her is out of jail already.”

“ _What?_ That’s not right. How did that happen?”

Sheriden looked like he wanted to spit. “Same old story. He was Vor. His Da was friends with Vorclarence _and_ he had a hotshot Vorbarr Sultana lawyer. They’d got round to blaming my Jaana for daring to use the crossover. There were fifty people to swear the light was green to cross, though. He got three years for unlawful death DUI. They offered me compensation. Five thousand marks. That’s all she was worth, to them. I told them to shove it. Nothing was going to bring Jaana back. I’ve never been back to Vorbarr Sultana since.” He shrugged his shoulders, like he was shaking off a very bad memory, and changed the subject.

“So when do you take oath? You’ll have to wait until the count recovers, of course, and there’s the training, too, I suppose. You should have no trouble, except for the etiquette. Twelve years and I never got the etiquette quite right. The old countess, she tore strips—” He stopped abruptly as he saw the expression on Walton’s face. “You’re not going to take it?”

Walton shook his head. “I hadn’t thought to, but Ma, well, she’d like me closer to home. _You_ seem to think it’s a good idea. Why?”

They were interrupted as a patrolman came to the door with a plate of sandwiches. He bustled around for a minute or two, pouring water and setting the coffee maker in the corner to cycle through a brew. Sheridan nodded to the plate. “There’s a cafe just down the square. I order in from there most days. You should have seen the owner’s face when I went in and asked for the bill, that first lunch time on the job. There’s a lot to put right round here. But we were talking about the armsman’s job. Any reason why you’re _not_ keen on it? You’d be set for life.”

“That’s exactly the problem, isn’t it? The oath is for life. I’d say you regretted giving yours.”

Sheridan grimaced. “Big time. You have no idea. But Count Voralys is _nothing_ like Vorclarence. I didn’t know what to expect when I met him, but he saw right through us. He knew we’d never make armsmen again, me and Chalmers, but he’s looked after us. He’s _true_ Vor, Adrian. His honour means something to him. I don’t think you’d regret it at all if you did take service with him.”

Walton finished his sandwiches and poured coffee for the both of them, adding milk to his own. The fresh stuff, he noticed, not the shipboard canned white goop they pretended was milk. The luxury hadn’t had a chance to pass unnoticed, yet. “If I don’t make armsman, would you have a vacancy?”

Sheridan didn’t hesitate. “I’d make a vacancy. We need to improve the quality of the patrolmen we have here. Not their fault, most of them, and I’ve got the training programmes nearly finished. I desperately need some disciplined back-up to call my own, if you know what I mean, _no divided loyalties_ , but it would be a drop in wages for you. We couldn’t match an armsman’s pay. Not that it’s brilliant, but you’ll be comfortable.”

“That wouldn’t be a problem. The service pension would make up the difference. I’m not worried about money…much,” he added as an afterthought. “I suppose I should be. Armsman Fox explained that kind of thing. I’m still not sure I want to be a babysitter, though.”

“It’s much more than that. I really enjoyed the job when I first took oath, when the old count still had all his wits. Ask for a week’s trial. A day isn’t enough to make up your mind. Come back and see me then if it doesn’t suit.”

Walton drained his coffee. That was two options he had now. _Decisions, decisions._ Best sleep on it.

As he stood up to go Sheridan rose as well and shook his hand. “Give my regards to Rebeka. I should like to call round and see her, if she’d be happy with that. I wasn’t sure if I’d be welcome.”

“Why ever not? She’d be happy to see you, I’m sure.”

Sheridan looked uncertain. “I lived and Bart died? I let him take all the flak. She doesn’t resent that?”

“She doesn’t think anything of the sort. I’m sure of it. Da was the senior armsman. It was his responsibility to look after you. _She’s_ the one who sent me round to talk to you.”

“Oh, I see.” The guard captain looked even more uncomfortable. “And how would you feel about that, Adrian?”

“What’s it got—oh…” The other boot hit the floor. “ _That_ sort of calling round. With my mother?”

“Only social, you understand. Of course she’ll want her mourning year. I’m lonely now, off duty, and I think she must be, too. We could just see each other from time to time.”

Walton thought of his mother’s tears the night before. She must be older than Zac Sheridan though, but maybe not that much older, maybe five years. Why the hell not?

He smiled. “I’ll tell her to expect you. Mind you, it’s all her decision. I’m not playing Baba.”

“Of course.” Sheridan saw him to the lift tube. Walton could have sworn he heard whistling as he descended below the floor level. _Who’d have thought?_

Out in the square there was a bustle around the bulletin board near the District offices. A small crowd had gathered. There must have been some change in the latest report, he concluded, and wandered over to check it out. A perfect stranger shook his hand as he reached the steps. “Good news. He’s off the ventilator and breathing on his own. I must go and let my wife know, straight away.”

The man hurried off. Walton could only scratch his head. Had everyone gone quietly nuts around here? Still, he was glad to hear Voralys wasn’t going to die. He threaded his way through the bystanders to check for himself. His Ma would want to know the exact details. The bulletin was short. _Count Voralys passed a peaceful night and regained consciousness briefly when his ventilation assistance was discontinued. His condition is expected to improve._

Yes, Ma would be pleased. He headed off home to let her know.

 

Three days later Walton punched in a code and waited for the vid call to go through. He was passed up the line through a desk sergeant and a newly-minted Ensign and finally reached the man he wanted to speak to. Major Karasavas didn’t allow his expression to change too much, but he could tell the major was pleased to see him.

“Sergeant Walton. ImpSec wasn’t expecting to hear from you quite so soon.”

“Good morning, sir. I’ve had a bit of a re-think. I was hoping you could arrange a trial for me at Voralys House.”

“What brought this on, if I may ask?” Karasavas wasn’t leaping on him, he noticed.

“I’ve been catching up on the local news, sir, and talking to a few people. I think I might have been a bit hasty. I haven’t met the man yet, after all. I can’t believe the change in the District since the last time I was here on leave. I took my mother for an outing to Rotherhall yesterday. It was _fun_. The place is full of tourists and everybody is smiling. They all seem to think the Count is the answer to all their prayers down there. _Everyone_ can’t be wrong.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. I presume you’ve heard the latest report? The count is awake but he’s had a setback and he’s still got a long road ahead. Not everything is going to plan. They _are_ letting him out tomorrow, though.”

“It’ll probably be best if I don’t disturb the household right now, then. They won’t want me hanging around. They’ll all be really busy. Next week would do. I still have three weeks’ leave left.”

Karasavas shook his head. “I think the armsmen are all exhausted with the extra duties they’ve had. They could do with the help, even if you just man the front door or do some security patrols. I’ll pass on your message to Fox and he’ll be in contact. See me or my desk sergeant if I’m not available and we’ll get you on a courier. Bring your combat boots and fatigues. No one expects you in dress greens.”

_Jeez_ , ImpSec being nice again. It was seriously disturbing. It was all Walton could do to nod acceptance. Karasavas cut the com and he was left to ponder what the major’s motive was.

His mother had plenty of work for him to do while he waited to hear from Armsman Fox. By Barrayaran law he was now head of the household and his mother was his dependent. Luckily his sisters were both married so they were off his hands. Ma hadn’t looked through any of the papers and data discs in Da’s bureau. There could even be a will there somewhere, not that Da would have had a fortune to leave, but there could be some specific requests.

There was also a big box that had come from Voralys House with an ImpSec seal on it. His Ma hadn’t opened that, either. “Major Karasavas brought it,” she told him. “It’s got everything of your Da’s he had up at the House in the ready room, and everything he had on him when he—when he died.”

“I’ll look through it. You should have signed an inventory, though. It should all have been listed. Haven’t you even got his wallet back? What have you been doing for money without the credit chits?”

“Count Voralys gave me a separate account to use for my own. The pension goes in there. I have to wait for you to sign off at the bank, or something like that, before they’ll release the joint account. They weren’t very helpful about it when I went in there. It was all too hard to think about. Major Karasavas saw to everything else, when the girls had to get back home after the funeral. Don’t be thinking I’ve gone without, or anything like that.”

Walton felt like smacking himself in the head. He’d had to help wade through the archaic inheritance laws for families of casualties in his company from time to time, _and_ deal with personal effects. He should have thought about all this for himself. No wonder his mother wanted him to stay dirtside. “Aw, Ma. You should have said sooner. I could have been home a month ago if I’d asked for compassionate leave.”

“It hasn’t been a problem, honestly, but I’m glad you’re here now. You and Da set up your emergency access when you were here four years back, didn’t you? How about I go bake a cake and leave you to it?” She disappeared before he could reply.

He sighed and sat down at the desk. There was avoidance, and there was denial, and then there was his Ma. None of this was going to go away. He’d be having words to his sisters next time he saw them, though. One of them at least should have got in touch with him before now. He placed his palm on the read pad and waited. Yes, his Da hadn’t changed anything. The records opened just fine. Most of it was pretty straightforward. No major debts that he could see. He paid off all the outstanding bills out of the household account, spent an angry half hour on the com with the bank until he finally got access back for his Ma again, and then looked to see what else was there. He found a few thousand marks saved up for his Ma, and three separate sub-accounts that had been operating for years. Thirty-eight years, to be precise, in his own case, opened on the day he was born. Walton felt sharp tears spring to his eyes as grief for his Da pounced on him from nowhere. Ten marks, every pay day, paid into a trust account for him. There were ten thousand marks waiting for him, with the interest and all, over eight thousand marks for his sister Bella and seven thousand for Libby. His Da had never said a word.

He needed some fresh air. He brushed past his mother in the kitchen and stepped out into the pocket-sized back yard, with its pots of herbs and tiny table with room for two. It needed some deep breathing before he got himself under control again.

“Adrian?” His Ma’s tentative voice from the back step forced him to pin a smile on his face before he turned around.

“Did you know about the savings accounts, Ma? Da never said anything to me.”

She looked a bit vague. “He always said he was trying to keep a bit aside, to give you all a head start. Did you find some accounts?”

“Yeah, Ma, I did. He didn’t need to do that. The two of you could have had a nice holiday together, gone to Bonsanklar, or the south coast, maybe.”

“We got away, for weekends, sometimes. We were happy enough, Adrian. Da did all that flying back and forwards to the capital, with the count. His idea of a holiday was to put his feet up, or sit in the sun, here, in the back yard, and not have to watch his back. He didn’t really like strange places. Made him twitchy.”

“I suppose it would, at that. I’ll get the funds released for the girls. There’s some money there for you, too, Ma. About five thousand marks or so.”

“Oh, that’s unexpected. Isn’t it just like him, though? Always worried about us. The cake’s just coming out of the oven. Time for a cup of tea?”

"Yes, time for a cup of tea." He followed her back into the kitchen, shaking his head. A cup of tea, the universal cure all. After the break he set back to work. He could face the records again, now. What his Ma had said made him think, though. Was that the life of an armsman, always watching his or the count’s back and twitchy in new places, or was that just Da?

There weren’t any more surprises until he started going through the bureau. It was old, probably a Time of Isolation piece, beautifully crafted in solid oak. The bottom drawer was locked. Walton searched through the other drawers and pigeon holes, but there was no sign of a key. Da probably carried it with him. He turned to the box that the ImpSec major had brought round. It had to be opened some time.

Spare uniform, spare boots. Neatly folded underwear and socks. Out of curiosity he tried the boots on for size. They were a perfect fit. He’d keep those, something of his Da’s nobody else would want. Data filers, duty rosters, assorted light pens and a stylus or two. It was pretty much the usual junk anyone would have. Down the bottom of the box he found his Da’s wallet, the charm he always wore around his neck, and his chrono. There was also the key ring he was looking for, as well as the code cards for the house and a couple he didn’t recognise.

Walton found the key he needed and unlocked the bottom drawer. As he stared down he could feel the blood drain from his head as his hands started to shake. What the hell?

 

 


	4. Impsec

 

 

Cash. Bundles and bundles of cash, still with the bank bands on them, in various different denominations. There were even thousand mark notes there, in a slim bundle. He’d never seen one up close. There was a data case and a flimsy with them, written on in his Da’s handwriting. Walton’s hand was still trembling as he pulled it out. He read through it quickly, then went back to the beginning and started again. It was Vorclarence’s emergency stash, or one of them, anyway. His Da had itemised it precisely, with notes about who was permitted to access it, and the codes allowing it to be released. A hundred thousand marks, all in untraceable bills. Who would know about it, with the slimy bastard dead?

Walton was tempted. He shut the drawer hastily, then opened it again. Yes, he wasn’t seeing things. It was all still there. God knew how much was in the case. He wasn’t stupid enough to touch any of it. It was bad enough he’d touched the flimsy. He carefully put it back, closed the drawer, locked it and put the key in his pocket. A hundred thousand marks! He’d be set for the rest of his life. His mother would never have to do a day’s work again. He put his head on his arms as he leant down on the desk and groaned. He jumped up to pace around the room, wrestling with himself. He hurried out to his bedroom, found the bottle of whisky and poured himself a double. The first one didn’t touch the sides. He poured another and sipped it more slowly. What to do. What the _hell_ was he going to do?

It took him an hour. Finally, with a sigh, he stood up to go and find his mother. “You’d better put that kettle on again, Ma. I’m just about to call Major Karasavas. He’s going to be around here so quickly I doubt his feet will actually touch the ground. Da’s been looking after something for the count. We need to give it back.”

She wasn’t even curious. “Oh, that nice major. I wonder if he’d like some lunch. I was just about to make you some sandwiches.”

“I doubt he’ll be eating, Ma, but you never know. You get on with that while I give him a call.”

His Da had brought him up to be honest, after all, just as he always was. Vorclarence had taken advantage of that, the twelve-toed bastard that he was. He still hesitated before he punched in the numbers. It was easy to be honest when you weren’t tempted. No, it was the right thing to do. He squared his shoulders and punched the buttons. It was the same triage system through the desk sergeant and the ensign before he got to speak to Karasavas.

“Sergeant Walton. Have you heard from Armsman Fox?”

“No, sir, this is different. I think you need to get here ASAP, and maybe even bring someone with you. I’ve found something in my father’s desk.”

The man was suddenly all ImpSec. “Is it a small case, about thirty centimetres long?”

He’d been right about the ESP. “Yes, and a whole lot of cash.”

“Don’t touch it. Don’t touch anything. Get your mother and leave, right now, and that’s an order, sergeant.”

“It doesn’t look like ordnance, Major. It—” Walton stopped. He was talking to thin air. The major had bolted. Well, you didn’t argue with ImpSec. Walton found his mother’s coat for her, turned off the teakettle and took her out the front to wait. About five minutes later a large, unmarked aircar, of all things, took off from somewhere close by, just south of the District Office, and swooped into the street. Both doors opened and a squad of men boiled out.

 _Shit!_ They were dressed in _bio-hazard suits_. One carried a cryo-box. Two of them fanned to either side of the door and more jogged off to barricade the entire street. What the hell had his Da got himself mixed up in?

The major strode up to them. He still had his visor unsealed. His expression looked grim. “Where is it?”

Walton handed over the key. “Main room. Bottom right hand drawer of the bureau. What the hell is this about?”

“Later. Take your mother to the aircar and see the medtech for a check. There’s probably nothing to alarmed about.” He nodded to Ma Walton. “Very sorry for the inconvenience, ma’am. We shouldn’t be disturbing you for too long, hopefully.”

Karasavas gestured to a companion, a young man Walton recognised as the ensign he’d seen earlier. The pair of them sealed their visors and checked each other’s suit, then disappeared into the house.

Walton took his mother over to the aircar, which was fitted out with an emergency medical centre in miniature. The medtech used a chemical sniffer, and then a similar instrument with a moist swab attached to it. He paid particular attention to their hands. The analysers whirred and chittered away, testing each swab as it was added. Finally he was done and they sat down in the relative warmth to wait, wiping their hands and faces with disinfectant-soaked towels.

It was more than ten minutes before the ensign came to the door again and gestured the trooper with the cryo-box to come inside. Finally the three of them reappeared, the ensign carrying the cash and the flimsy in an evidence bag and the trooper holding the cryo-box at arms length. Walton helped his mother down from the aircar to talk to them. Major Karasavas removed his visor and wiped his face. “There’s no sign of any contamination. All the seals were still tight on the case. I’m really very sorry, ma’am, but I’m going to have to have the two of you come back to HQ. I need to ask you some questions.”

 _Aw, shit!_ Walton fists clenched as he tensed. “You’re going to fast-penta my mother?”

“Yes. And you too.” He looked Walton in the eye, his expression deadly. “You aren’t going to cause me any grief, are you, Sergeant?”

“Damn it! She knows nothing! She’s been through enough already.” Walton’s breath surged in and out in seething frustration. He wouldn’t get anywhere but the stockade by decking an ImpSec major, if he ever got his fist anywhere near him in the first place. He should just have kept quiet. No one would have been any the wiser, and he could have been a whole lot richer.

He felt his mother’s hand on his arm. “Don’t cause a fuss, Adrian, I’ll go with the major. I’m sure he’s only doing his duty. It will be fine.”

Walton glowered at Karasavas, who didn’t back off an inch. Instead he indicated the waiting aircar and said, “I’ll have a man stay to guard the house until you come home. It will only be a couple of hours at the most, in all likelihood. I very much regret the necessity.”

Discipline kicked in. He was still under oath to obey his superiors, for another three weeks at least. He handed his mother back into the aircar and buckled her in before taking his own seat. They were flanked by two very large and very stern troopers. As if his mother was going to give them any trouble. She’d be more inclined to bake them a batch of cupcakes. It was a two minute trip and they landed in the secured compound at the back of the ImpSec building. The passenger cabin doors weren’t opened until the cryo-box had been taken off, and then Major Karasavas handed his mother down before Walton jumped out himself.

The rear entrance of the building led them through some stark, anonymous corridors to a series of interview rooms. The major opened the first door. “If you could wait here, please, Madame Walton, I’ll be with you very shortly. And you, Sergeant,” he opened a second door. “In here, please. I’ll go change and report in. I’ll talk to your mother first so there’ll be less stress for her that way. Ensign Vormayer here will keep you company for a while. Just chat amongst yourselves, why don’t you?”

 _Chat amongst yourselves?_ Bloody Impsec. Bloody Vor, too; all he needed. Ensign Vormayer didn’t look old enough to wash behind his own ears yet. Walton marched into the room and sat down without a word. He stared at the ensign.

“Anything I can get for you, Sergeant? Some tea, perhaps?” Ensign Vormayer smiled at him hopefully. God only knew what they’d put in the tea around here.

“No, thank you…sir.”

He sat down opposite Walton and pulled at the front of his suit. “This is the first time I’ve used a bio-hazard suit, apart from training. I’m sweating like a pig in here.”

“They’ll do that to you every time. You want to make sure your liners fit properly. Watch out for the jock itch. It’s a killer. It’ll rot your balls right off if you’re not careful.”

Vormayer shifted uncomfortably in his chair, pulling at the legs of his suit. “Really?” The smile disappeared from his face.

“Bet they didn’t tell you _that_ in training.” Walton folded his arms and stretched out his legs. Enough messing with the ensign’s head. It was like kicking a puppy. How the hell he’d ended up in ImpSec was a mystery. The lad didn’t look to have a weaselly bone in his body. They sat in silence for quite some time. Eventually the door opened and Major Karasavas entered, back to his normal neat self in his undress greens, a sinister black case held under his arm.

“Go and get changed, Vormayer.”

The ensign leapt to his feet. “Thank you, sir. May I have the time to take a very quick shower?”

Karasavas checked his chrono. “Five minutes.”

Vormayer disappeared at the double. The major looked at the space where he’d been standing. “What the hell did you say to him?”

Was that a glint in his eye? Walton suppressed a smile and shrugged. “We were talking about bio-hazard suits.”

“Ah.” The major turned to sit across the desk from Walton. He was once again all business. “Sergeant Walton, I request and require you to undergo questioning under fast-penta regarding the items found in Armsman Bartholomew Walton’s quarters today. Do you consent to this interview?”

Walton looked at the solid table in front of him, complete with discreet shackle rings welded to the legs either side. No doubt those two goons who sat either side of them in the aircar were right outside the door. He took a slow breath. He’d play along with their little games. “Yes, I consent to be interviewed.”

“Very well. Please roll up your sleeve.” Karasavas waited for him to comply, then extracted a test patch from the kit he’d carried in with him. He peeled it off its backing, pressed the tiny burrs to the inside of Walton’s wrist and waited the required two minutes. When he pulled it away there was no sign of a reaction. He screwed an ampoule into a hypospray and pressed it to the inside of Walton’s elbow. “Please count backwards from twenty.”

“Twenty. nineteen, eighteen…” He could tell when the drug reached his heart, and then his brain. Karasavas slipped out of focus slightly as he blinked. “Thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten.”

“Please stop there. State your name and rank.”

“Walton, Adrian Edward. 4430171955, Sergeant, Imperial Rangers.”

“When did you return to New Sheffield?”

“You know perfectly well. You brought me here, after all. Four days ago.”

“And previous to that?”

“Four years ago.”

They continued with fairly simple questions for a while. Walton could feel the silly grin on his face, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. Karasavas didn’t look him in the eye, instead he watched a data screen as he kept his voice smooth and level. “What was in the bureau drawer?”

“Money! Cash. I’ve never _seen_ so much money. Did you know thousand mark notes have yellow strips on them, like an admiral? I’d never seen anything bigger than hundreds before.”

“Was there anything else in the drawer?”

“Oh, yes, there was a case, and a flimsy my Da had written on.”

“What was in the case?”

“No idea. I didn’t touch it. I didn’t touch anything, apart from the flimsy.”

“Why didn’t you keep the money?”

“It wasn’t my money. I wanted to keep it. I _really_ wanted to keep it, even just that bundle of thousands, but Da had it on trust. I couldn’t do that to his memory.”

“Was there money in the case, too?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t look. What’s so special about the case?”

“Let me ask the questions, please. Are you loyal to your Emperor?”

Walton had a think about the man he’d met, with his grave face and his concern for his cousin. “Hell, yes. I’d fight for that man. _Have_ fought for the man, and I’d do it again. He’s doing a good job. I earned a silver star, at the Hegen Hub, when I was still young and stupid—”

“Stop. And you didn’t look in the case.”

“For fuck’s sake! No, I didn’t look in the god-be-damned case. Are you stupid or something? You’ve already asked—“

“Stop. Did your father look in the case?”

“How should I know? It’s not like I could ask him, is it? Ma might know.”

“Did your father own the money?”

“Da? Where would he get a hundred thousand from? He’d die before he would take a bribe.” Walton felt tears roll down his cheeks. He sobbed. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it. “He _did_ die. I never got to say goodbye to him.—”

“Stop.” The remorseless questions went on and on, until at last Karasavas was done. “I’ll apply the antagonist now. Please count backwards from ten.”

Walton felt sick. He dragged his sleeve across his face. He’d blubbed like a baby. Karasavas had better be happy. Had the bastard done that to his mother, too? He tried to stand up to go to her, but his legs didn’t quite work properly. Karasavas pushed him back down in his seat.

“Wait here a bit longer. I’ll get you some water. Your mother is fine. She’s in the waiting room but you don’t want her to see you looking like this. Vormayer had better be looking after her or I’ll want to know the reason why." He stopped for a moment. "I don’t suppose you’ll believe me, but I really do regret the necessity for all this.”

“What the hell’s in that case that you were so shit-scared I’d seen?”

Karasavas stood up to get the water. His face changed expression for a moment. “I was only shit-scared that you’d opened it, Sergeant.” With that he left the room. Walton scrubbed at his face with his hands and then ran them through his hair. He didn’t need water, he needed what was left of that bottle of whisky. What would have an ImpSec major running scared? It had to be big. No, it had to be _huge,_ something deadly serious.

His breath caught. Wait…where had he heard that? Deadly serious. Oh god, deadly serious. _Neurotoxin is always deadly serious._ The Emperor had said that. Count Voralys—it couldn’t just be a coincidence. No wonder Karasavas had come down like a ton of bricks. Had that raving lunatic Vorclarence left neurotoxin in his father’s house? The bastard. The absolute, _fucking_ bastard.

When Karasavas came back with the water Walton stood up, ready to go. “I don’t need that, thank you. I’ve worked it all out. You think that case held more of the neurotoxin someone tried to use on the Emperor, don’t you? Only it got the count, instead.”

Karasavas’s expression didn’t change. “That’s one of two possibilities. Believe it or not, neurotoxin would be the better of the two choices. I don’t actually know what’s in the vials. Lord Auditor Vorkosigan is coming to New Sheffield to take charge. He’ll be bringing the relevant people with the expertise and the facilities to analyse them properly. We’re very thankful you weren’t tempted to touch them.”

A bitter laugh escaped. “No, I was only tempted by the money.”

“Who wouldn’t be? Men have ruined themselves over much less than that. It’s greatly to your credit that you didn’t do anything you’d regret. I’ll be turning the cash over to the Lord Auditor, too, with my report. It probably belongs to the District, but he’ll sort it out. We’ll need to come back with you and collect those code-keys you didn’t recognise, too. If anything we find belongs to your father of course it will be returned to you. Shall we go and see your mother?”

His Ma looked like her normal self, certainly not overly upset. The waiting room where she sat was slightly less impersonal than the interview rooms. It even had a window and a green thing growing in a pot. Vormayer had brought her a cup of tea. He looked pleased to be out of the bio-hazard suit. His hair was still a little damp, Walton noticed.

She turned an anxious gaze on him, “Are you all right, love? It wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be.”

“I’m fine. You finish your tea and we’ll get you home again. You can have a little lie down on your bed for a while. All this must have been a shock.”

Karasavas accompanied them in the ground car he normally used and they arrived home much more sedately than they’d left. He only stayed to collect the key-codes and left them with a bow and a half-salute to his Ma, collecting their door guard on the way. Walton was glad to see the back of him. He’d be up to all hours chasing those keys down. Couldn’t happen to a nicer bloke, he thought sourly. Only thing better would be if the jock itch got him.

His mother headed for the kitchen to finish making their interrupted lunch. He thought he’d been optimistic when he'd told her to have a lie down. They made the sandwiches together and sat at the old table to eat.

“That young ensign needs some lessons in making tea,” his Ma said as she sipped at a fresh brew. “He hadn’t boiled the water properly. I didn’t like to say anything as he was trying to be so kind.”

Walton put his head in his hands. He bit his lip, but it was no good. His shoulders started to shake.

“What? What have I said?” His mother looked at him in bewilderment.

“He’s _ImpSec_ , Ma. He could probably kill both of us in five seconds flat, diffuse a bomb and fire a plasma cannon. He just can’t make a cup of tea to suit.”

“Oh, yes.” She giggled. “Well, he did try, poor boy. His mother should have taught him better.”

“If he ever had a mother. None of them ever had fathers, that’s for sure.”

She turned a little pink. “That’s not a nice thing to say, Adrian.”

“Well, don’t let them fool you, Ma. They’re not nice people.”

“Do you suppose we’ll ever find out what it was all about?”

He pushed away from the table. “I doubt it, Ma. I should go finish that job. I need to tidy up the mess I made. Perhaps they accidentally left one of those bundles of notes behind. We could have a holiday.”

There was a message on the com, from Voralys House in the capital. Armsman Fox wanted to talk to him.

 

 


	5. Not happy.

 

 

Armsman Fox could go to hell, and take as many Vor as he could with him. Walton deleted the message without opening it. He wanted nothing to do with the whole putrid lot of them. There’d been people _starving_ on the streets of New Sheffield the last time he was home, and Vorclarence had a hundred thousand marks to spare, just stashed in his Da’s bureau. The system was a vile joke. No wonder there were revolutions. He’d find a job somewhere, anywhere, and get his Ma out from any obligations to the count just as soon as he could.

His Ma appeared in the doorway. “Did you want something, Adrian? I heard you shouting.”

He hadn’t realised he’d done that. “No, sorry, Ma, unless you know where I can find a gym. I need some exercise.” A punching bag, preferably. A big one.

“Oh, your Da always used the exercise room at the District House, but I did hear the Municipal Guard gym is open to the public now. It’s behind their main building, near your old primary school.”

“I know it. Don’t make dinner for me, Ma. I might just go for a run, after, or go out.” A run to the nearest pub _might_ just do the trick, but the boiling rage he felt inside him probably needed some more physical outlet. It only took a few minutes to change into his workout gear and head out at a fast jog with his water bottle and towel in a rucksack slung on his back. He went the long way round the square, lengthening his stride where he could. He found the gym without any trouble and his service ID saw him admitted without charge, another shock to his battered beliefs.

“There’s a judo class starting in ten minutes. We still have three vacancies in that one, if you’re interested, Sergeant,” the desk clerk advised him. “It’s an advanced level, if that would suit.”

“That would suit me just fine.” Even better than a punching bag, in fact, and with ten minutes to warm up. The gym was fairly basic, but adequate for his needs. Some of the men already warming up on the mats appeared to be fairly fit. Patrollers, by the looks of them. There were a few nods of welcome as he started his stretching routine.

“New in town?” The question came from a tall young man over to his left. “You look like you know what you’re doing.”

Walton took a second look. Red hair was very uncommon on Barrayar. He was more of an overgrown kid, on second looks. Twenty at the most. “Yeah, I’m on leave. First time back in a few years.”

“Infantry?”

“Rangers.”

The young man’s eyes widened in awe. “Shit. I hope I don’t draw you. I’m Arlon Price.” He held out his hand. Walton shook it briefly. “Adrian Walton.”

“You’re in luck if it’s a good workout you’re looking for. The instructor is a mean sonofabitch. Here he is now.”

The instructor didn’t look anything special, medium height, lean and dark, close to middle-aged. Walton noticed the way he walked, though, and felt a tug of anticipation. He’d seen his sort before. Ex special ops, by the look of him, a veteran for sure, at the very least. He made sure to introduce himself, bowing in the correct manner before speaking. The instructor bowed back.

“Glad to have you with us, Walton. Let’s make a start.”

The ritual of the traditional warm up soothed some of his edginess with its standard routine. They soon paired off for some practice throws and falls. He didn’t draw Price and his partner matched him for age and weight. The instructor’s eyes were everywhere, assessing and ranking his class.

“Walton. Care to show us what you can do? Step forward.”

They bowed to each other and crouched to circle, looking for an opening. With a bewildering flash Walton found himself on his back but he rolled like lightning to avoid the armlock and was back on his feet and counter-attacking, setting up a foot sweep that had the instructor rolling swiftly away in turn. They faced each other again. The rest of the class ringed the mat. This was going to be good.

He was the first to tap out after a prolonged stalemate ended in a flurry of blows and a spectacular throw, but quickly pinned the instructor on the rebound with a move of his own that had the man grunting in surprise. There was a concerted gasp, quickly hushed, from the onlookers. At one-all the only sound he could hear was his own sharp intake of breath. After a rush of blows and counter punches Walton felt a knee sweep that caught him exactly as he was shifting his weight to land a killer blow. Too off balance to resist further he went down and ended up in a choke hold he wasn’t going to escape without seriously hurting his opponent. He could have done it, but only under more lethal circumstances. He tapped out to a round of applause. The instructor let him go and held out a hand to haul him up. They bowed formally before Walton staggered off to find his water bottle. Amid the excited murmur of the class he could hear Arlon Price passing the news that he was a Ranger on leave.

The instructor took the time to set the others to work again, and then came over to speak to him. “Any time you need a job, Walton, come and see me. You’re the first man here to throw me and take a point in two years. Where did you learn that pivot trick?”

“Sergeant instructor at Ranger school.” Walton grinned. “He was a mean bastard just like you.”

“I thought as much. You a twenty year man?”

“In three weeks’ time, if I don’t re-enlist. I’m looking at a few things at the moment.”

“You’ve come back to New Sheffield at the right time. Things are looking up round here. Count Voralys has opened up so many opportunities. It’s good to hear he’s on the mend.”

“I don’t know much about him, and I don’t much care, either. I’m not too crazy about any of the Vor at the moment.”

The instructor looked at him with a glint in his eye. “Oh, I don’t know. Vorclarence wasn’t a good role model, I’ll grant you that. There’s still a few good ones out there. Vorhalas, Vorvolk, Vorbretten, the Viceroy, of course, and his son, Lord Vorkosigan. Then there’s Voralys and don’t forget Vorbarra, of course. Men like that will see us right, between them.”

“If you say so. Apart from the Emperor I’d be happy never to have to deal with any Vor ever again. They’re just parasites. Anyway, this workout was just what I needed right now. Thank you.”

At the end of the session Price came over to see him. “A few of us are heading over to the _Wheatsheaf_ after this. Would you like to join us?”

It sounded like a damned good idea. “I’d need to get changed. Is that the pub just off the square to the north?”

“Yes, that’s the one. See you there in thirty minutes, or whenever. We’ll be there a while.”

“Sure thing. Thanks, Price.”

“So what did you think of Major Vorjenner?”

“Who?”

“The instructor. Major Vorjenner. He invalided out of the 34th Infantry Regiment. You’d never think it to look at him, would you?”

Walton groaned. _Nice one_. Piss off the Emperor _and_ his judo instructor in two easy tries. The man was right, though. If he was an example there _were_ still a few decent Vor out there.

“He’s damned good. I was regimental champion a few years ago and I could hardly get near him.”

“I’ve never seen anything as awesome as the two of you going for it. Are you going to be a regular here?”

Walton shook his head. “I don’t know until I line myself up with a job. I’m still deciding.”

“There’s a rumour Count Voralys is looking for armsmen. You should try there. You’d be good enough. I put in an enquiry myself, but of course everything’s on hold at the moment.” His expression turned gloomy. “They’ll just say I’m too young, anyway.”

“Why would you want to be an armsman and spend your life looking out for some privileged Vor?”

“He’s good for the District, is why. We’re not going to change the system any time soon, so I’d like to try and help make it a system that works. Have you seen what Count Voralys has done in Prestwich?”

“Can’t say as I have. I’ve only been back a few days.”

“You should check it out. There’s bound to be vid of the demolitions on any of the news archives. He got the Engineers in to blow up apartment buildings. It’s fantastic the difference it’s made to that shit-hole of a town. And he isn’t just passing through, either, before you say it. He’s here to stay, if he doesn’t die on us.”

Walton jogged off back home for a quick shower and change. He only had the one civilian outfit, charcoal trousers and a white shirt with thin charcoal stripes. It would do fine.

His mother caught him as he came back out of his room. “Adrian, are you going back out? There was a message. Lord Auditor Vorkosigan wants to speak to you. It sounded urgent.”

_He could just go on wanting_. “You haven’t seen me, Ma. If it’s that urgent he’ll call back, or I’ll call him tomorrow if I have to.” Walton kissed her on the cheek and headed for the door. “I’m off to the pub.”

There were six of them from the class, only just starting on their first beer. Arlon Price jumped up when he saw him. “Let me buy you a beer.” He was a like a big friendly puppy.

“There’s no need for that. I’ll get myself one.”

When he got back from the bar Price introduced him around. Most of them were patrollers, as he suspected. Price was a civilian Guard employee working in the traffic enforcement branch.

“Can you tell us about your deployment?” Price asked. “It wasn’t a secret or anything, was it?”

“The last one wasn’t. I’ve just come from the _Prince Serg._ We were on a public relations visit to Earth. Showing the flag, joint training exercises, that type of thing.”

“You’ve been to Earth? That must have been fantastic! Have you been to Beta, or Escobar?”

“Both of them. Vervain, too.”

“I’d love to do something like that.”

Walton looked at him. “Why don’t you? You’re just what the Service is looking for.”

Price’s face fell. “I did apply. Medically unfit.”

“What?” Walton started to ask why, and bit his tongue just in time. Price probably had a mutation. Just enough to keep him out of the Service, but picked up by the doctors at his medical. Red hair genes were recessive. He knew that much. It was often associated with lethal alleles. Surely he’d been treated, when they found out?

“But you’re fit now?”

Price had folded in on himself. It was sad to see. “Yes, I’m supposed to have an unacceptably low tolerance to solar radiation, but I think it was just an excuse, really.”

“You get sunburned too easily? That’s a crock of shit.”

“That’s pretty much what I said.” He glanced around, to see if the others were listening. “Everyone else knows. No one says anything. My Da was half Cetagandan.”

“And that was his fault? Or yours?”

“Well, no, but—”

“But nothing. You’d be a damned good soldier.” _Or an armsman._ The thought came to him unbidden.

Price raised his glass in sad resignation. “I’ll drink to that.”

 

The next morning Walton woke to his mother tapping on his door. “Adrian? Are you awake? Adrian? The Lord Auditor is here to see you!”

Walton groaned and rolled over to look at his Chrono. 0800 hours. He’d _got_ to be kidding! He was on leave, for god’s sake!

The door opened. Through his bleary eyes Walton saw a small figure silhouetted in the doorway. “Good morning, Sergeant. Forgive the intrusion. I didn’t want to risk _missing_ you again.”

He was seeing things. No, he wasn’t. The Lord Auditor was a very short man. He wasn’t even as big as his mother. He had to be a Mutie, surely? He didn’t sound like a Mutie, not that he’d ever heard one speak, really. He sounded…pissed off. Why not collect all three and make a set?

Walton sat up and regretted it. He hadn’t rolled home last night until about 0100 hours. He’d told Price a few stories, to cheer him up, and one thing had led to another, as they do. He could do what he liked, after all. He was on leave. He wasn’t answerable to anyone.

There was another man standing behind the Lord Auditor, a very large one, wearing brown and silvery livery. What, not ImpSec? Not Karasavas and his be-damned fast-penta?

“Ten minutes, Sergeant. Would you like Armsman Roic here help you dress?”

“That won’t be necessary.” He hauled himself out of the bed and staggered past the three of them to the bathroom. He turned on the shower full blast on cold and slapped on his depilation cream. He lasted maybe two minutes under the blast of the freezing water, head down, arm braced against the wall to hold himself up. The short hallway was empty when he came back out, towel around his waist. Nine minutes and thirty seconds after the ultimatum was issued he finished sealing up his boots and marched into the kitchen in his undress greens.

“I’m impressed.” The Lord Auditor raised one eyebrow over the rim of his teacup as he checked his chrono.

“Here, Adrian, have some tea, love.” His mother handed him a cup, with two painkillers.

“Thanks, Ma.” Walton bought himself some time, swallowing the painkillers and sipping at his tea to wash them down, all of the while assessing the man sitting at his ease at his Ma’s kitchen table. The huge armsman he’d called Roic stood by the back door, relaxed and non-threatening. _Or so he’d like him to think_. There was probably another one at the front of the house, guarding that door as well, Walton reckoned.

So this was Lord Auditor Vorkosigan. He looked nothing like his father the Viceroy. He wore a plain grey civilian suit, expertly tailored to fit his decidedly odd figure, with his chain of office sitting proudly over his shoulders and down across his chest. His body faded into insignificance, though, when Walton looked him in the eyes. Perhaps he did resemble his father. Walton had met Admiral the Prime Minister Count Vorkosigan as he was then, out at the Hegen Hub. The look in these grey eyes facing him was every bit as direct and intense as his father’s had been.

“My Lord Auditor, what may I do for you, sir?”

“You can sit down, for a start. This isn’t an inquisition. I would have thought you’d had enough of that yesterday. This is a friendly call.”

_In a pig’s eye._ Everything was always friendly until the shit hit the fan.

His Ma interrupted. “I’ll leave you two to talk, if you’ll excuse me.”

_Running away again, Ma?_ Fair enough. He’d run, too if he ever got the chance. Walton regarded Lord Vorkosigan. He wasn’t as old as he’d first thought. Younger than he was himself, probably. He was a strange man to be an Auditor. He deliberated for a moment, then pulled out a chair, sat, put his cup down and folded his arms.

“I see. What should we be friendly about, then, sir?”

“I actually came here to thank you.”

That made Walton sit up. “Thanks? What did I do?”

“The flimsy you found yesterday may just be the key to cracking a very knotty problem. General Allegre’s men are analysing it as we speak. It names names. We’ve had no luck in establishing concrete links between Vorclarence and some of his suspected collaborators before this. He was very good at covering his tracks.”

“I’m glad to be of service.”

“Cut the bullshit. You want me out of this house and out of your life. I can entirely understand. I have another thank you, too, before I go, a personal one.”

Walton rubbed a hand across his face. He didn’t need any more grief. “Yes, my lord. I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting any of this when I came down planetside.”

“I’m sure you weren’t. That data case you found…”

“Major Karasavas was mighty twitchy about that case.”

“He had good right to be, but it turns out it didn’t contain neurotoxins, or plague virus. It contained _antidotes_.”

“It did? Well, I’m glad my mother wasn’t sitting on something lethal. Antidotes to what?”

“Something lethal. _Somethings_ very lethal, actually, which is the problem. My thanks go to you because one of them was the toxin that’s doing its best to kill my cousin Ivan. The doctors at the Imperial Infirmary can finally get him well again now.”

“People round here will be very glad to hear that. He seems to be very popular.”

“Yes, Ivan’s surprised everybody. Maybe not everybody. The Emperor knew what he was doing.”

“You said _somethings.”_

The Auditor nodded. “Yes. I’m glad you noticed the plural. There are three different antidotes in that case, which means there are more toxins out there we haven’t found, yet.”

“Oh” _Not a happy thought._

“Precisely. Once we track down what belongs to the code keys you also found we’ll open whatever it is very carefully. Your father never mentioned safe deposit boxes, or anything like that?”

Walton, in common with every Barrayaran, had a very nasty aversion to anything resembling bio-weapons, including neurotoxins. If he could help the Lord Auditor, he would.

“I hadn’t seen my father in four years before he died. You can come and look through his desk again, if you like. There may be something. I was only going through it to sort out his financial affairs.”

“Thank you, I will.” Lord Vorkosigan stood. He didn’t look a lot taller than he had when he was sitting. He’d fit right underneath his arm without any problem. “Lead the way.”

Walton was right. There was another armsman standing near the front door, older than Roic and not as tall. This one didn’t smile much, either. He knew which one of the pair he’d rather face in a fight, and it wasn’t this one. Lord Vorkosigan nodded briskly to him.

“Pym, have you met Sergeant Walton?”

The armsman shook his head. “No, my lord. I have heard about him, though. I believe Armsman Fox is waiting to speak to you.” He held out his hand. Walton could do nothing but take it.

“I was otherwise detained, yesterday,” Walton said, “and after that I didn’t feel the need to speak to anyone. If you talk to him tell him not to worry. I’ve had a couple of other offers.”

Lord Vorkosigan pricked up his ears. “You’re turning down the armsman’s job? That would be a real shame. Pym has a wonderful time. Don’t you, Pym?”

There wasn’t a flicker. “Roic might be in two minds, after that recent incident, my lord, but I have been very content to serve these past fourteen years. Never a dull moment, is there?”

Roic, following behind, flushed a dull red. “I was off duty,” he muttered.

Pym regarded him gravely. “Indeed.”

The Lord Auditor had reached the bureau. He had the keys, Walton noted. It took him a very short time to skim through the flimsies and scan most of the data disks. Pym produced a small black box which the Auditor plugged into the comconsole and pressed his seal to the read pad. In ten minutes he had finished.

“I’ll get out of your hair. I’d strongly urge you to give that trial a second thought, Sergeant. My friend Vorjenner tells me you’re a very handy fellow to have on your side.”

It was Walton’s turn to feel uncomfortable. He could feel heat in his cheeks. “That’s very kind of him, considering what I told him. When did you speak to Major Vorjenner, sir?”

“When I attempted to catch up with you last night. Your lady mother doesn’t lie very well. I just missed you at the gym, and just missed you back here when I called again.” He let him squirm for a minute or two.

“Well, if there’s anything I can ever do for you, Walton, either as a Lord Auditor or a Count’s Voice, just let me know. The Imperium owes you a debt of gratitiude, as will Ivan. You can call on either of us in need.”

Walton considered. “There is one thing you may know, sir. Does Cetagandan blood disqualify a man from military service?”

“That depends on the blood, of course, but I wouldn’t have thought so. We have a count with Cetagandan blood, after all.”

“What about red hair?”

“That’s a back country superstition. Red hair isn’t unlucky. The Countess my mother has red hair.” He paused. “Although I can’t say that her luck has been all that brilliant from time to time. Is there something you’d like me to look into?”

“Some _one_. Arlon Price. I met him last night. He failed his service medical because of his hair and pale skin, but he thought it was because his Da was half Cetagandan. He mentioned he’d applied for an armsman’s post but thought he’d be too young.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Pym make a note.

“I’ll see what I can do. May I tell my cousin you’ll reconsider that trial?”

He was a persistent little bugger, wasn’t he?

“Very well, my lord. I’ll go back to Voralys House for a trial.”

“Excellent. I should see you there, once this situation here is wound up. I’m getting married very shortly. Ivan is going to be my second, so we want him well.”

It wasn’t until the Lord Auditor was well on his way, Roic driving the groundcar and Pym sitting in the rear compartment with Lord Vorkosigan that Walton realised he’d been neatly outmanoeuvred. He’d had no intention of agreeing to any such thing.

 

 

 


	6. Keeping promises

 

 

Two days later, dressed in his black fatigues and combat boots, Walton walked to the District Office, carrying a couple of changes of clothes in his kit bag. There was an aircar leaving for Voralys House at 0900 hours and he was going to be on it. He still couldn’t quite believe it. Lord Vorkosigan had sucked him right in _somehow_. It was a coercion _somehow_ , he decided. _I’ll do something for Price, you do something for me_ type of thing. He’d better keep his end of the bargain, though. Price deserved a better hand than the one he’d been dealt.

As he rounded the corner past the District residence and turned into the square he saw a young man waiting on the steps about fifty metres away, someone who couldn’t actually stand still. He was hopping from one foot to the other in agitation, or was that excitement? Walton didn’t need to see the hair to realise who it was. For the first time in a long time he felt a genuine surge of delight. Lord Vorkosigan didn’t mess around, did he?

Arlon Price caught sight of him and a brilliant smile broke out on his face. “Sergeant Walton. What did you _say_? Who did you talk to? It had to be you. I’m going to _Voralys House!_ Armsman Fox is going to give me a trial! He even knows I’m part Cetagandan.” His face fell for just a moment and his expressive face suffused with guilt. “I had to go into ImpSec for an interview. I thought…I’m very sorry. I thought at first you’d reported me for being a security risk, or something. I should have known better.”

“Didn’t trust me, eh? Very wise. Price, if I’d thought you were a security risk I _would_ have reported you in a heartbeat. Don’t ever second guess security. Let the people whose job it is to keep everyone safe earn their salary. I’d rather be called an idiot than let something through. I had a chance to put in a good word for you, so I took it. The person who interviewed you had to be sure. Was it Major Karasavas?”

“No, Ensign Vormayer. He used fast-penta.”

“They got me, too, just before I went to the gym. I should think it’s SOP for anyone that close to a count. If you take the job you’ll be standing behind him with a nerve disruptor one day, don’t forget.”

He looked alarmed. “I don’t know anything about nerve disruptors.”

 Walton tried to reassure him. “I’m sure they’ll train you first.”

Price realised at last that Walton hadn’t just been on his way somewhere. That grin of his broke out again. He almost needed sunglasses to look at it. “Are you coming too?”

“Sure am. Lord Vorkosigan persuaded me. He’s Count Voralys’s cousin.”

“Is it true he’s a Mutie?”

“About as true as you’re a Cetagandan. He’s very short though. I got a surprise when I met him.”

Price’s mercurial expression changed again. He’d be hopeless at poker. “I should think we’ll get lots of surprises in the capital. My Ma told me to take my lead from the other armsmen and not to look like I was a bumpkin.”

“Wise advice. Ah, speaking of which, here’s Lord Vorkosigan’s armsman. I think he’s come to fetch us.”

Armsman Roic appeared through the doors. He nodded to them. “Glad to see you both made it. The aircar’s this way. On the roof.”

They followed him through the building security gates and up the lift tube. The aircar had Price gasping in delight as it was a sleek courier, the latest model, and looked to be dangerously fast. There were a couple of escorts circling overhead, Walton noticed. He took a good look at them. Yes, they were part of the Emperor’s flight, with that gleaming flash of Vorbarra silver flaring out from the nose.

They stowed away their bags and were ready when the Lord Auditor appeared out of the lift tube, preceded by Pym as usual to clear the area. He appeared to be somewhat preoccupied but took the time to shake their hands and welcome them. Price gawked a little but he obviously remembered his mother’s advice and shut his mouth with a snap. They followed him into the aircar, buckling themselves into the luxurious seats. Walton tried not to smile at Price. He still looked like all his Winterfairs had come at once. He caught Lord Vorkosigan’s gaze on him and they both grinned. Price’s enthusiasm was infectious.

Lord Vorkosigan spoke. “Please excuse me, gentlemen. I have some reports to finalise before I see the Emperor this morning. Pym here will take you through a briefing. You’ll know most of it, Walton, but it doesn’t hurt to have things reinforced. Price, don’t be afraid to ask questions. It’s the only way you’ll learn.”

“Yes, my lord.” Price gulped, looking from him to Pym, ready to hang on every word. Amusement still lingering on his face his lordship turned back to his data reader and left them to it. Walton settled back to enjoy the trip as they shot like an arrow up to join their escorts.

 

It was much colder in Vorbarr Sultana that it had been in New Sheffield. Winter was beginning to make inroads in the capital and all the trees were bare now, with signs of frost lingering in north-facing corners, even at midday. Their breath hung in the air as Roic delivered them to Voralys House. Walton tried to place the armsman who admitted them. He’d only been briefly introduced, but it was the one he’d seen at the Imperial Infirmary. Harper, that was it.

“Welcome, and welcome back to Voralys House. Armsman Fox is waiting for you in the ready room. I’ll take you through.”

Walton shook hands with Fox, surprised to be pleased to see him again. “I’m glad you reconsidered, Walton,” Fox said, before turning to Price.

“I’ll be taking you up to meet Count Voralys very shortly. You’re not going to see him at his best. He’s been desperately ill, so bear that in mind. He’s pretty easy-going, but that doesn’t mean you take any liberties. Understand?”

“Yes sir. Of course sir. I wouldn’t think of it. What do I call him?”

Fox smiled. “I’m not sir. You just call me Fox, or Armsman Fox. The first time you address the count each day you call him _My Lord Count_ , and after that just _my lord_ , or usually _sir_ will do fine. Got it?”

“Yes, s—Armsman Fox.”

“Good, come on then. He’s in the library.”

Walton was very curious to see the man everyone had talked so much about. He’d only had that one glimpse of him, flat on his back in his hospital bed, so he knew he was a tall man, but that was about it. The three of them entered the library quietly. The count was dozing in a winged armchair by the blazing fire with his feet propped up on a footstool. The woman Walton now knew was Raine Vorfolse sat at a nearby comconsole, writing what looked to be a long screed.

As Fox had warned them, Count Voralys looked dreadful. His face was pinched and shrunken-looking, cheeks hollow, and his eyes, now closed in sleep, had huge black circles under them, contrasting sharply with his too-pale face. Those eyes, when he opened them at Fox’s subdued cough, were yellow-tinged.

“I’d like to introduce Sergeant Adrian Walton and Mister Arlon Price, my lord.”

The count mustered up a smile. It changed his face and made him look more like a human being. He swung his feet down to the floor and gripped the arms of the chair.

“Don’t get up, My Lord Count!” Walton took two swift paces forward and held out his hand. “Please just stay where you are.”

Price followed him to shake hands as well.

“I don’t mind if I do.” Count Voralys stopped trying to get up. “So, gentlemen. Emperor Gregor recommended you, Sergeant and my cousin Miles you, Price, as armsman candidates. I certainly need looking after, as you can see. Price, my cousin suggested that you would benefit from training before you decided. His idea was that you took up a position as…er…what did he call it? _Armsman’s apprentice,_ that was it. You won’t be sworn, so you’ll only be carrying a stunner, and you won’t be wearing full armsman’s livery, either. There’s a District uniform my secretary wears. That would suit, I think. How do you feel about that?”

“I think I’d be relieved, My Lord Count. I know I’m not nearly ready yet to be a full armsman. I thought I wouldn’t pass the test and I’d be going home on the next transport. I was just very grateful to be considered.”

Walton admired the young man’s honesty. It must have cost him to admit that. The count smiled again. “Oh, we wouldn’t do that to you. What I’ve had in mind for some time is a younger man, who can perhaps develop some rapport with my adopted daughter; someone who isn’t old enough to be her father. She has seven of us like that already. I’d train you up to be her bodyguard, Price. Perhaps you’d like to meet her. Fox, would you fetch Marie, please?”

Fox slipped out of the room. Count Voralys continued. “Let me introduce my fiancée, Mademoiselle Valeraine Vorfolse. Raine, this is Arlon Price and Sergeant Adrian Walton. His father saved my life, down in those dungeons.”

Raine came over to shake their hands. “I remember Armsman Walton. He was very kind when my mother and I were visiting the countess. Kinder than she was, truth be told. I’m very sorry for your loss, Sergeant.”

Walton made the connection. The two female hostages Vorclarence had been holding. _Of course_. “Thank you, Mademoiselle. Da was always very considerate. He enjoyed looking after the count’s guests. I’m sorry it turned out so badly for you.”

“Yes, so was I, at the time.” She smiled down fondly at Count Voralys and took his hand. “But look how well it’s turned out, after all.”

The door opened and a little girl ran in. She was clutching a kitten, dressed up in a frilly pink bonnet. Her dark curls bounced as she ran over, and her whole face was lit with pleasure.

“Da, Marky says you want to see me. I didn’t know you were awake! He says I’m not to jump on you. Is that true? How do you like Princess’s bonnet? I took it off my new doll Mamie gave me for my birthday present.”

The count held out his arms for her and attempted to get a word in edgewise. “No jumping today, sweetheart, but give me a cuddle and then you can meet my guests.”

She emerged from his embrace when the kitten set up a yowling protest. Its bonnet was skewed over one eye. “Sorry, Princess.” She straightened it up and set the still-protesting animal on the floor and then turned look at them. Her eyes shot open. “Oh, look at your hair!”

Count Voralys put a hand to his forehead in dismay. “Marie, honey, don’t make personal comments. It’s not polite.”

“Oh, but it’s beautiful! I’ve never seen such beautiful hair. It’s…it’s _orange_.”

“We call that red hair, on a person, but it’s still not polite to comment, even if it is beautiful. You should say handsome, for a man, though.” The count was trying to hide a grin. His daughter wasn’t the least abashed. She shook hands with Price.

“I’m sorry I called you beautiful. I think you’re very _handsome.”_

Count Voralys gave up and deflected attention away from the blushing Price. “Leave poor Price alone, Marie. Shake hands with Sergeant Walton, too.”

Walton had been biting his lip, trying to contain his laughter. He hunkered down to meet her on eye level. The little girl held out her hand to him. “You look nice, too, Sergeant Walton. You have crinkly eyes.”

“ _Marie!_ What did I just tell you?” Her exasperated Da groaned. “Sorry, Walton.”

“That’s fine sir. I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Marie. I see you have a kitten.”

“I have two kittens, but Prince Xav is naughty. He sicked up so I put him to bed.”

Walton heard the count groan again. It was all he could do not to burst out laughing. “Did you give him something bad to eat?”

She shook her head. “No, he stole it off Da’s bedside table. The door was open.”

Fox took off at a run. Count Voralys tried to stand up again, but sank back like everything was too much effort.

“Took what, Marie?” He asked, in a voice resigned to calamity.

“It was goopy stuff, in a tube. He chewed it all up. Then he was sick.”

The count’s fiancée emitted a strangled gasp and turned her back on them all. Count Voralys stared at his daughter in appalled horror. His mouth opened and shut. Twice. Walton thought quickly.

“You use that stuff on your hair. You’d better check Prince Xav and make sure his fur hasn’t turned curly.”

Her eyes opened wider than ever. “That would be _neat_. I’ll go see.” She snatched up Princess and ran from the room. There was dead silence in her wake. Walton looked around. Price was staring at the floor, biting his lip. Raine Vorfolse’s shoulders were shaking, but she hadn’t turned around yet. Count Voralys was still gaping like a fish. He pulled himself together at last.

“Welcome to Voralys House.”

It was time to retreat. “Price and I will go back to the ready room, sir. It’s been very nice to meet you at last.”

He dragged Price out of the room, back across the hall past Harper and down the stairs. He shut the door to the ready room and only then burst out laughing. He _howled_ with laughter until his sides ached.

Price looked at him. “Was that really hair gel? I thought it might have been something else.”

Walton collapsed into a chair. “Oh, dear god, Price, what do you think? Does it look like the count uses hair gel?” The realisation on Price’s face set him off again. He was still grinning when Fox found them. He had a merry glint in his eye himself.

“First rule of being an armsman. What happens in the house stays in the house.”

“I wouldn’t dream of mentioning anything,” Walton managed. “Who’d believe me, anyway? Where was the cat sick?”

“On the count’s bed. That’s what took me so long. Come on down to the kitchen and we’ll rustle up some lunch for the two of you. You’ll need to meet Admiral and Madame Waleska later. They’ve just come home.”

Walton had heard the name before. “I used to know a Captain Waleska, one time. He was ship’s doctor on the Sergyar station. Captain Wally we called him, behind his back.”

“Same one. He’s a good man. Then there’s also Lady Alys Vorpatril and Simon Illyan, but they’re both still out. They’ll have to wait until this evening to be introduced.”

Price’s face turned white. “Simon Illyan?”

“Yes, _the_ Simon Illyan. He lives here, on and off. You’ll see an ImpSec guard squad about whenever he’s here. The count has a protection detail as well, separate from what we provide. You’ll get used to each other. Come on, let’s eat.”

As well as Sarmiento and Kosa, whom he’d met before, there were three more men, armsman candidates, in the kitchen, more men that the Emperor had sent over to be considered. Men like himself, Walton noted. Price was the only young one. They’d been in the house a day or two already, obviously not as bothered by doubts as Walton had been. Two were ex-Impsec and one ex-infantry. They had plates of Ma Belka’s food in front of them, so there wasn’t a lot of talking going on. She bustled over to serve the newcomers.

“I’m so glad to see you’ve come back,” she said to Walton.

“I couldn’t stay away from the cooking,” he replied, savouring the aroma of the plate of stroganoff she set in front of him. She swatted at him with a tea towel.

“They all say that.” She turned to Price as he was introduced. “Nice to meet you. It’s good to see someone younger. You’ll like my cookies, I’ll bet.”

Price had caught a whiff of the stroganoff, too. “I’m sure I’ll like everything, Ma Belka. This is nothing like I’d imagined.”

Fox looked over at him. “I don’t suppose you would imagine a madhouse, at that, Price. You’re not going to get bored here. That’s for sure.”

They split up after the meal, each newcomer assigned to an armsman mentor for the week. Harper came off front door duty to collect Price, Sarmiento and Kosa dragged their charges off, and Driscoll appeared, back from a message he’d been delivering, to collect the last man. Walton was left with Fox.

“Devaux is the last of our regular armsmen. He’s on night duty so you’ll see him at changeover. I thought I’d have you shadow me. Would you like to see the ground car routines first?”

“It’s as good as any. We’ll get round to the rest in turn, no doubt.”

“Follow me, then. The garage is this way.”

They settled into a couple of days of regular routine. Harper and Price did the school run together, and possibly a little bit of sightseeing on the way home to introduce Price to the city he’d never visited before, while Walton learned table service with Fox, under the eagle eye of Lady Alys Vorpatril. Sheridan’s bitter comments came forcefully to mind as he struggled with Lady Alys’s strictures on etiquette and silver service. It was never going to be a favourite part of the job, but he could learn. The door keeping and security patrols came as second nature, no different to guard duty that he could see, apart from learning the list of who was to be admitted without query.

Walton ran up to Marie’s bedroom with a package containing school supplies for Ma McIvor, the nanny, to deal with. On his way back out of the bedroom he was surprised to see Count Voralys sitting near the head of the staircase, out of sight from the entry hall. He started forward in alarm. “Count, sir. All you all right?”

The count had had his head on his knees. He looked up at Walton’s query, his face paler than usual, and that was hard. He looked ready to pass out.

“I’ll get some help.” Walton started to run down, but the count held out a hand to stop him.

“Please don’t tell anyone. They’re all worried enough as it is.”

Walton looked around. There was no one within sight. He sat down on the step next to the count, to stop him craning his neck up to try and see him. “Is there anything I can get you, sir?”

There was a sardonic laugh. “Short of a new liver, you mean? No, thank you, Walton. How are you settling in? You’re a godsend, you know. My men are run off their feet. They’re all exhausted. I worry about them because there aren’t enough to go around.”

“They’re all worried about _you_ , sir. Nobody likes to see you looking so unwell.”

The count held out his hands. They were shaking. “I thought I could walk downstairs on my own. Just a simple thing, but I thought wrong. I’m pathetic.”

“Come, on, I’ll help you up. Just put your arm around my shoulder. We can use the lift tube—” he hauled him to his feet. Thin as he was Count Voralys was still no lightweight as he slumped against him “—or perhaps I should just take you back to your bed?”

“Yes, perhaps you should.” The count agreed. “I don’t want Raine to see me like this.”

“I’ll fetch Admiral Waleska. He’s the one you need right now.” Even with only two days’ knowledge of the count Walton could work out he must be sicker than usual, for him not to make a complaint about that. He hated people fussing over him. They reached the bedroom and he helped the count over to the bed, swinging his feet up for him once he’d sat down. “I’ll be right back.”

“Walton?” The count’s voice stopped him as he headed for the door.

“Yes, sir?”

“Thank you.”

Strangely touched, Walton hurried down the corridor. By the time he got back with the doctor the poor bugger was asleep again. Asleep or unconscious. It was hard to tell the difference. The two of them stood looking down at him. The admiral sighed. “One step forwards, two steps back. I don’t know when he’s going to turn the corner. It’s too much, even for Ivan, and he’s as strong as a horse, normally.”

Walton found a rug to spread over him. “Have you known the count long, sir?” He asked.

The admiral shook his head. “Not long. Not even a year, and yet he’s as dear to me as a son would be. I hate to see him like this. Vorclarence and Vorresiak and the whole lot of them should burn in hell.”

Vorresiak? That was a new name he hadn’t heard before. “Hell’s too good for anyone prepared to use neurotoxin. I thought Lord Vorkosigan told me he’d found an antidote?”

Waleska looked up sharply. “He told you that? You know about it? Yes, he did. We gave the count a shot just before you arrived. I really think it saved him, you know. I hoped it would do the trick but I think he’ll need another dose. I’ll go see to it. Thanks, Walton.”

“My pleasure sir. I never thought I’d get to meet Dr Wally again.”

“Again? Did you know me on the Komarr station?”

“No, sir. Sergyar. I was a raw recruit on my first deployment. I er…I had an accident. Jammed my hand when I tried to catch a case of grenades.”

“Right before I took up duties with the Emperor. That idiot was you?”

“That was me. Lucky I ended up in sickbay or I’d have been in the brig, seeing as I was the one who dropped the case. You fixed me up really well. I’ve had no trouble since.”

“Glad to hear it. I’m also glad you’re here now, too. I hope you stay. Excuse me. I need to go and arrange for that shot.”

Walton headed back down the stairs. It was a conspiracy. He was sure of it. They’d all been primed up to try and convince him. The vision of Count Voralys lying on the bed, so weak and helpless, flashed through his head. He’d bothered even then to say thank you. He was nothing like Vorclarence.

Perhaps he wasn’t going to need as much convincing as he’d thought.

 

 

 


	7. No time to think.

 

 

The second dose of antidote seemed to do the trick. Walton, and all the household, could see a definite turn for the better. The count even started talking about going to a wedding.

“He’s mad,” Walton said to Armsman Fox. “He’s not nearly well enough.”

“He’s still got a week,” Fox replied. “You might be surprised. You sound like you’re worried about him.”

“I guess I am. Anyone would be, really.”

Fox quirked an eyebrow. “Anyone who cared, I suppose.” He didn’t press the point, but went on. “He’s finally ready to see visitors, too. Count Vorhalas will be coming in today. I’m just working out how to tell someone like Vorhalas he’s only allowed to stay for ten minutes.”

Walton only knew of Count Vorhalas by reputation. If he got the chance he’d like to see the old man. It was amazing how many famous people he’d got to see and talk to in the last couple of weeks, and most of them were just regular people. Even Simon Illyan seemed normal most of the time. He’d never call the _Emperor_ a normal person, though, and probably not Lady Alys. She was scarier than anybody.

“Count Voralys asked me to tell you he wants to see you, this afternoon, before Miss Marie comes home from school.”

“Thanks. I’ll do that. About 1500 hours, then?”

“Yes, that’s a good time.”

Fox sighed. “We also have to round up those damned cats. Harper can hide them in the laundry until Count Vorhalas leaves. He’ll hear the racket if we leave them anywhere closer.”

Walton knew he wasn’t a coward, but he drew the line at some things. “Who gets the short straw?”

“Catching the cats? Count Voralys said he’d do it himself. He said he can’t make his armsmen do anything he wouldn’t be prepared to do first.”

Yes, he _was_ a brave man. The others were right. “Rather him than me, is all I can say.”

Walton only had the one day left of his trial. Price, he knew, had had no hesitation in accepting his apprenticeship. _He_ didn’t have to swear a life oath, though, not yet. Walton still couldn’t make up his mind. When he got a spare minute he ruled up a flimsy into two columns, pros and cons. The pros turned into a long list. The cons included cleaning up kitten vomit, _again_. Miss Marie had been very remorseful about Princess and Prince Xav getting into the breakfast room. Count Voralys hadn’t been there to see it, and Walton and Fox had cleaned up the mess quick smart before Lady Alys came down. He could feel himself smiling at the memory. Luckily it was only groats.

The trouble was, of course, that nothing was normal at the moment. Count Voralys wasn’t going out anywhere to be body-guarded. They’d been out with Mademoiselle Vorfolse and Fox had taken that very seriously, so he'd got the general idea about what it would be like. Not being able to make up his mind was making Walton irritable. He wasn’t usually so indecisive. He had one last chance to sleep on it, but he’d have to tell them one way or the other tomorrow.

They got the kittens cornered just in time, later on that morning, herding them into the library. Count Voralys wore his military issue winter gloves to catch Prince Xav by the scruff of his neck and shove him in the carrier like lightning and then Harper slammed the door shut. The effort exhausted him and he sat down to direct the rest of the operation from the armchair beside the fire. Harper held tight to the carrier as Prince Xav bounced off the walls inside. It took Fox, Price, and Walton, all with large towels, to box in Princess. Price deserved a medal for finally catching the little beast. She went into the carrier towel and all. Harper picked it up and walked out with it at arms length.

The count smiled weakly. “Well, that went well.”

Count Vorhalas was a very old man. Walton hadn’t been one of the group to line up at the door to usher him in, but he’d seen him from where he stood in the passage leading down to the kitchens. The count leaned quite heavily on his stick as he crossed the entrance hall towards the library. The Vorhalas armsman who accompanied him didn’t look a lot younger, either. It was interesting that the man hadn’t retired. _Old family retainer,_ obviously. The Vor seemed to go in for them. Just like his Da.

Fox took a bottle of wine and a carafe of apple juice in for refreshments, but he brought the wine back out again. “You don’t have to be a count to have class,” he remarked to Walton, who waited for him in the hall, “but it helps. The old man is sharing the apple juice. He didn’t want to drink wine in front of someone who couldn’t have it.”

True to his word, Vorhalas only stayed for ten minutes. As he left, a flurry of cold air swirled through the hall. If this weather kept up it was going to be a cold winter. Walton headed for the library to add some more wood to the fire as the liveried men had lined up give the count a formal farewell. Once he’d finished sweeping the hearth he turned to the count.

“Ready for some lunch, sir? I think Ma Belka has made a clear vegetable soup for you today, with poached salmon to follow.”

Count Voralys pulled a face. “Wally’s still on her back, is he? What about chocolate torte, with pecans and fresh cream?”

He had to shake his head. “Sorry, sir. It’s not on the list. You know she’s only looking after you.”

“I may as well be dead.” He sighed. “Thanks, Walton. Vegetable soup it is. Could you serve it in here, please? Is Mademoiselle Vorfolse back yet?”

Walton shook his head. “No, my lord. She’s gone to Estelle’s with Lady Alys and Madame Waleska.”

“We won’t see them for hours, then. Captain Illyan and the admiral?”

“I believe they went to look at a lightflyer Captain Illyan is considering purchasing.”

“So he can whisk my mother off to the south coast and ply her with cocktails, I’ll bet.” He sounded totally bitter. “Alcohol. In tall glasses. _With fruit_. Probably have tacky paper umbrellas in them, too.”

“We could get the cook to put an umbrella on your salmon, my lord, if that would cheer you up?”

If looks could kill, Walton would have been stretched on the floor. “I don’t _think_ so, Walton. That will be all.”

No sense of humour when he was exhausted, Walton noted. Best remember that. He closed the door behind him. He was half way across the hall before he thought to wonder _why_ he’d need to remember that.

Just before 1500 hours Fox and Walton returned to the library. Count Voralys was fast asleep in his arm chair, curled up with his legs over one of the arms. Fox quietly put two more logs on the fire and glanced again at his chrono. He spoke in a low tone. “Harper and Price will do the school run. I need to go fetch the ladies, so I’ll take Kosa and Driscoll. We’ll have a bit to carry, I should think. Why don’t you just take a seat and wait for him to wake up?”

“Sure thing.” Walton settled back into the chair opposite. It wasn’t until he sat down that he noticed a cat curled up in the chair with the count. He pointed to it. Fox made as if to clutch at his hair.

“How the _hell_ do they do that? I’d swear the door has been closed all afternoon.”

“It’s Prince Xav, isn’t it? He has the stripes on his ears.”

“Probably. One’s as bad as the other. Grab a book or something. I’ll leave you to it.”

It was half an hour or so before the count stirred. He blinked and opened his eyes, too comfortable to move much. “What time is it? Sorry, Walton. Have you been there long?”

“Not really.” He indicated his data reader. “I’ve been catching up on who did what to whom at Countess Vormoncrief’s soirée. Fascinating stuff.”

“It could have been worse. It could have been Countess Vorinnis with her poodles.” The count straightened up in his chair, dislodging Prince Xav who merely shifted into his lap and settled down again. He made no move to oust him. “Let sleeping verminoids lie. The only damage that way will be hair on my clothes.” He turned his concentration back to Walton. “Your trial is up tomorrow. What did you think of the week, Walton?”

“I’ve enjoyed myself, sir. There’s quite a variety in the tasks. Not like arms drill and fitness day in and day out with a bit of panic thrown in every few months.”

The count looked sceptical. “The Rangers was more than that, surely?”

“Okay, a lot of panic thrown in, with arms drill and fitness in between. I don’t think I’d get bored here, though.”

“There’s still a but, isn’t there? What the sticking point for you?”

He hesitated. “It’s really hard to say. I just don’t know if my attitude is good enough for you. I’m not like Price. He can’t imagine anything better than training up to be one of your armsmen, sir. I can imagine two or three alternatives.”

“Is it the oath, then?”

“Probably it comes down to that, in the end. I keep thinking of what that oath did to my father. _Not_ that I think you’re anything like Vorclarence, my lord.”

“I think you’re being far too hard on yourself. I’d be honoured to have you as an—”

He broke off as the door opened and Marie rushed into the room, a drawing in her hand. “Da, Da, look what I made for you!”

It all happened too quickly. The count sat up straight, dislodging Prince Xav, his voice sharp with fear. “Marie! Don’t run near the—”

The cat hissed and sprang down, straight into the path of Marie’s running feet. She tripped, screaming in terror as she threw her arms forward to save her fall. Walton hurled himself up out of his armchair but his foot caught on the edge of the hearth. Off balance as Marie’s weight crashed into him he fell back into the fireplace. A burning log rolled onto his leg and a shower of sparks and embers descended on the both of them as he could feel the bars of the fire grate press into his back and smell his own hair burn. He threw his arms round the little girl and rolled. All he could hear were her screams.

There was no time to think. He swatted at the back of his head, and hers. They weren’t on fire. There was no sign of flames, or if there’d been any they’d gone out. He kept rolling, then scrambled to his feet and headed out at a dead run, through the open door and up the stairs to the count’s bedchamber. It was the closest. He slammed into the ensuite bathroom and turned the cold water shower on as he leapt in.

“Where are you hurt? Where’s the burn, honey?” He soaked her all over, desperately trying to see where the damage was. Her face was fine. Her neck was red, an ember burn, but not blistered. Her hair was singed. Maybe there was another burn on her scalp, but nothing serious. The back of her school uniform was singed, too, but not badly. It hadn’t gone through. Hands? no. Legs? fine.

Count Voralys caught up with him at last. There was the noise of more pounding feet behind him. “Here, give her to me. You stay there. Get that water on you.”

“Just…just on her head, I think. An ember in her hair,” he managed to gasp.

The count’s strangled voice sounded full of chagrin and remorse. “I wasn’t quick enough. I’m so _sorry_ , Walton. I don’t know how to thank you.”

There were other hands there now, gently assessing him as the water fell all around. It was Devaux, the night duty armsman who had sprinted up from the kitchen at the sound of the commotion. It was crowded in the shower, with four of them in there.

“Thank god for combat fatigues,” Walton managed, once the ten minutes were up and they let him out.

Marie was almost hysterical. “Take him to the hospital! Da, take Walton to the hospital! He’s all burned.”

Sopping wet and hurting, he crouched down in front of her. There was a blister on the back of his right hand and one in the palm of his left, and he knew the back of his neck above his collar wasn’t going to be too brilliant.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I’m not all burned, only a little bit. I’m worried about you!”

Price rushed in with a first aid kit. The count looked after Marie while Price and Devaux assessed Walton. They slathered burn gel on his hands and the back of his neck.

“Anywhere else?” Devaux asked. “You’ve got three neat stripes across the back of your jacket. How the hell did you do that?”

“The fire grate,” the count answered for him. “It must have been just like a branding iron.”

Walton flexed his shoulders. “I don’t think it got through.” He tried to fumble the fastenings but his hands were covered with the gel. Price undid them for him.

“Easy with that,” Count Voralys ordered. “If it’s sticking don’t try and peel it off. We’ll get him to the hospital.”

The jacket came away easily. His wet shirt followed. There were three red lines on his back, but they hadn’t blistered. The count, Marie and he were all shaking. She’d escaped with burned hair and only the one ember mark on her neck. Ma McIver, a day late and a dollar short, came in at last and bundled Marie up in a huge towel to get her dry and changed and warmed up.

“Let’s get you dry, too, My Lord Count.” Devaux sat the count on the edge of the tub and helped him off with his boots, trousers and tunic. Even his shirt was sopping wet, so that came off as well.

The count talked around Devaux as he worked.“Price, you and Harper get Walton over to ImpMil. Devaux will alert them that you’re coming in. I’ll be there as soon as I’m changed.”

Walton hauled himself to his feet. “No, you won’t! …sir.” The count opened his mouth to protest. Walton went on. “You’re not well. You’ve just had another huge shock. You need to stay here with Miss Marie. She’s going to need you. Someone might need to talk to Darek Belka, too. He’ll be upset when he hears what’s happened. Tell Miss Marie I’ll be fine. They won’t keep me in. I’m nowhere near bad enough for that. I might even be back before she goes to bed.”

The count opened his mouth to protest again, but changed his mind. He shrugged in weary agreement.

Walton was a bit optimistic as it turned out, but whatever Devaux had said to the triage desk at ImpMil saw him whisked through to the treatment area in no time. A colonel, no less, checked out his burns and did little else apart from change the burn gel to a hospital grade version and give him a shot of synergine and another of painkiller. He found and dressed another blister on Walton’s thigh, but that wasn’t hugely serious, either.

“Two hours’ observation, and then we’ll let you out. I want to be sure you don’t go into shock. It was good training and good reflexes to get yourself in that shower, Sergeant.”

He hadn’t been thinking about himself at all. He’d been desperately terrified for Marie. He’d be happy to be twice as burned as long as she was fine. 

He woke from a light doze to find Lady Alys Vorpatril and Simon Illyan in his room. He started to scramble to his feet and thought better of it. He didn’t have too much on in the way of clothes.

Lady Alys held out her hand, and then changed her gesture to actually cup his cheek as she saw the bandages on his hands. Her touch was only brief, but he could see the heartfelt emotion in her eyes as tears welled up. “Sergeant Walton, _Adrian_ , we are forever in your debt. My son has told me all about it. Marie…we all love Marie so very much. _Thank_ you.”

He stammered. He couldn’t help it. For Lady Alys to be so overcome completely unnerved him. “I…it…it was my pleasure, my lady. Anyone would have done that.”’

“ _Anyone_ wasn’t there. You were.”

“We’re here to take you home,” Simon Illyan said. “You have my thanks, too. Sergeant.”

Lady Alys waited back in the corridor as _Simon Illyan_ helped him on with the change of clothes they’d brought with them. His hands had swollen and his fingers were clumsy and useless on the fastenings.

“Are you all right to walk?” Illyan asked. “Should I get a float chair?”

“No, no, I’m fine.” Walton stood up, wincing only a little. He couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing. They walked out together, Illyan holding on to his elbow, just in case. The night air made him shiver before they reached the groundcar where Lady Alys’s driver, Christos, waited for them. He leaned back against the seat, only to wince and sit up straight. It was impossible to buckle himself in. Simon Illyan fiddled with the belt and closed the lap strap only across him.

“That will have to do. It’s not far to get home.”

Everyone seemed to be waiting in the hall. Walton couldn’t think of another time there’d been so much fuss over him. The count was there, Fox, looking guilty, Price, Harper, Sarmiento, all of the off-duty armsmen, in fact. Admiral Waleska came forward to help him in, his expression intent and assessing. He’d already been triaged once. He didn’t need a second go. Madame Waleska and her daughter finished off the crowd. Only Marie was missing.

“Let’s get you upstairs,” the admiral said. “We’ll use the lift tube. We’ve put you in one of the guest rooms for the night. It’s closer, if you need anything.”

The attention was all too much. “I’d like to go to bed. It’s been a long day. I don’t need the lift tube, Admiral. I’m perfectly capable of walking.”

Ma Belka had appeared, too. She should have been off-duty ages ago. “I’ll bring you up a tray.” She looked at the bandages on his hands. “I’ll stay and help you eat.”

“I’m _fine_. I can manage.” All he wanted to do right now was escape.

“Give the man some air.” It was the count, making his voice heard. “Wally, you take him up. Some food would be just the thing, Ma Belka, and a good hot cup of tea.”

“Fix anything, that would,” Walton muttered. “A cup of tea and a good lie down.”

He breathed a sigh of relief as they all dispersed until only the count and the admiral were left. Count Voralys squeezed his shoulder. “Marie is fine. She even wanted to come and see you in the hospital, and believe me you have no idea how remarkable _that_ is. I’ll talk to you in the morning. It’s time I turned in, too. Goodnight, Walton.”

The admiral helped him undress and into a luxurious bed. Ma Belka tapped at the door and wheeled in a tray of dinner for him, all easy things to eat with just a spoon or a fork. She poured him a huge mug of hot steaming tea and left them to it. Admiral Waleska waited until he had finished, left a pager and some painkillers on the bedside table and slipped out of the room. Walton found himself a comfortable position somehow, on his good side with no weight on his burned thigh, and finally allowed himself to relax.

No, he wouldn’t be bored here at Voralys House.

 

 


	8. Decision made.

 

 

The burns weren’t the half of it. Walton staggered into the luxury of an en-suite shower room the next morning and inspected himself in the mirror. There was a massive contusion on his shoulder, another on his right temple which was bound to spread down to his eye, and one on his right hip. They were all from hitting the stone hearth with his arms full of little girl, unable to break his fall. It was quite lucky he hadn’t knocked himself out. His combat fatigues had prevented worse burns, but they couldn’t do anything about bruises. He sighed. Oh, well, better him than her. Now that the adrenalin and the synergine and the painkillers had all worn off it was all he could do not to whimper with the pain. He winced as he poked his bruises.

“I’m too old for this shit,” he told his bleary-eyed reflection, trying to turn and see what the back of his neck looked like. It hurt too much to twist and it had a dressing on it anyway so he gave up on that idea. He was just contemplating how the hell he was going to manage in the shower when there was a tap at the outer door.

“Walton, you awake?”

It sounded like Harper. He managed to get the door open after two tries fumbling at the doorknob, and looked out. Harper’s sympathy was of the rough and ready kind. “Shit. Rather you than me.” He grinned unfeelingly. “We’re off on the school run in ten minutes and Miss Marie wanted to see you before we go. I said I’d check. Oh, and Dr Wally is on his way up to sort you out, as soon as he finishes breakfast. He won’t be long. He says not to get those bandages wet.”

Walton only had some ship knit pants on. He was hardly fit for a little girl’s eyes, especially not with all the bruises. “She’s going to school today?”

“Yes, right as rain. Lady Alys cut her hair for her to get rid of the burnt bits and all she’s needed is a med patch on her neck. _Routine is good for her_ , or so m’lady says.”

“I’ll find a shirt. You can bring her up. Tell her not to hug my neck, though.”

He couldn’t button anything up so the top of his ship knits was all he could manage. He looked half decent. That would have to do.

Marie walked into the room very decorously. Her lower lip trembled just a bit. She stood in front of him, twisting her fingers. “Walton, I’m so sorry I got you all burned. I didn’t mean to do it.”

“We’ll blame it on the cat,” he told her, “But I don’t suppose he meant to do it, either.”

“Prince Xav is very, very sorry, too. Da said he has to go to the vet. I had to put them both in the carrier and Harper is going to take them after I go to school.”

Walton looked up in shock to meet Harper’s gaze. “He’s not…”

Harper made a snipping motion behind Marie’s back.

“Oh, yes. Well, I guess two cats like Princess and Prince Xav are more than enough for one house. Miss Marie, can you promise me something?”

She narrowed her eyes to look at him. “Only if I’m allowed. Harper has told me to be careful about what people ask me. I’m not allowed to keep secrets if Da doesn’t know, or Mamie if the secret is about Da.”

“It’s nothing like that. I want you to promise me you’ll never run towards the fire again. You always _walk_ near fires.”

“Oh, I already promised Mamie and Papi that, _and_ Da and Ma McIvor and Fox and Price and Harper. They _all_ made me promise, so I can promise you, too. I’ll remember.” She looked very serious for a few seconds, then she asked, “Can I see?”

Her swift change of subject bewildered him momentarily. “What? Oh, There’s nothing much to see. Just my hands.” He held them out and turned them over. Hopefully she wouldn’t notice the dressing on the back of his neck.

“Can I kiss them better?”

“Aw, Miss Marie. You don’t have to do that.” Walton pointed to his cheek. “You give me a kiss right here and I’ll feel a whole lot better after that, then you need to cut along to school. You don’t want to be late.”

Obviously much relieved she kissed him soundly and skipped off out of the room. Harper lingered for a moment. “I know what I’d really like to do to those cats.” He drew his finger sharply across his throat. “Cutting his balls off isn’t going to slow Prince Xav down much.”

Walton could only laugh. “She loves them. Perhaps we could build a run they can go in while she’s at school?”

“With a force shield. Nothing in or out. That’s an idea. I’ll get Price on to it. He’s dying of guilt at the minute. I let him take Miss Marie into the house yesterday while I put the ground car in the garage and she ran away from him. We’ve got him to thank for putting the fire out, though.”

“What got burned? The rug, or the floor?”

“Just the rug. It was a brand new one, too. The count’s not going to be happy when he realises. He hasn’t seen it yet. He’s not down.” Harper stopped talking as Admiral Waleska appeared. “I’d best get on. You take care, Walton. See you later?”

“Yes, I’ll be here. I’m staying.”

Harper’s face brightened. “Great! That’s good news.”

The admiral heard what he said and smiled as well. “Everyone will be pleased to hear that, Walton, but I’ll let you tell the count yourself. He needs something to cheer him up again. I’d like to shake your hand, but that would be such a good idea, would it?”

He held up some plasticised gloves from the kitchen and a roll of tape. “Let’s get you sorted for a shower.”

 

Fox came to find Walton in the kitchen as he ate breakfast. “There’s a vid call for you, Walton, coming through in five minutes. You’d best take it in the library. The count’s not down yet so it’s empty just now.”

“Who wants to talk to me? Did someone tell my mother about this?” Walton followed Fox out, cranky that his mother had been worried for no good reason.

“No, it’s not your mother.”

Damn the man for being so mysterious, then. He could get nothing more out of him. The comconsole eventually sounded a three-note chime he hadn’t heard before. The Vorbarra arms appeared briefly, before a familiar figure shimmered into focus. _Oh_. That’s why Fox had been mysterious.

“Good morning, Sergeant Walton. We hope to find you reasonably well this morning? By the looks of things you were more than just burned yesterday.”

Walton sat up straighter and self-consciously touched the bruise on his face. “Uh, Good morning, Sire. I’ll live. It was a very minor incident, really.”

“That’s not what We’ve heard. Your very quick thinking saved a serious injury from happening, and Marie is very special to Us. She’s under Our protection. As a serving soldier it would be appropriate to offer you some reward for your heroism.”

“I don’t need a reward for—you’re surely not talking about a _medal_ , are you, Sire?” He was appalled at the very thought. Medals were for heroes.

“It _had_ crossed Our mind, yes. There’s the _Emperor’s Cross_ , for personal service. It’s not a combat reward.”

“Please don’t do that. Medals are…for soldiers on active duty, or who risk their lives for _you_ …Sire, or the Imperium. I would…feel most uncomfortable accepting anything for what I did.” He’d annoyed him again, hadn’t he? Well, maybe not annoyed, but disappointed him, for sure. Perhaps the Emperor _liked_ giving people medals?

“If that’s what you wish. We’ll think of something else of a susbstantial nature, but in the meanwhile please accept Our most sincere thanks. Have you finalised your plans, yet, Walton?”

He was on safer ground here. The Emperor should be pleased with _this_ decision. “Yes, Sire. If Count Voralys will accept my oath I’ll be honoured to become one of his armsmen.”

A rare smile broke out on the Emperor’s face. “That _is_ good news. You’ll be signing off on Imperial service first, of course. I’ll have my man make the arrangements with Colonel Auskele’s people.” He paused, like he’d just had an idea. “I think We’ll make that a resignation and discharge as a Warrant Officer. Class one. The only thing it will affect is your pension. No one need ever know unless you choose to tell them. We won’t make the presentation of the Warrant public. Ivan—Count Voralys—can bring you along with him the next time he comes to The Residence. It’s a neat solution all round. Don’t you think so, Sergeant Major Walton?”

There was a distinct gleam in his eye. Some battles you could win, and sometimes discretion was the better part. “It’s a great honour I don’t deserve, but thank, you Sire. That’s more than generous of you.”

“No, Sergeant Major, thank _you_.” The Emperor cut the com.

Walton, stunned, sat at the comconsole for a few minutes, trying to gather his wits. _Sergeant Major_? He had to be joking. The Emperor was damn right about not telling anybody. He wasn’t even going to tell his mother!

It wasn’t the last shock of the day for Walton. Lady Alys cornered him in the library before he could leave. He hurriedly jumped to attention as she sailed through the door. “Ah, Sergeant. I trust your recovery is progressing.” Her gaze swept round the room, lingering on the bare floorboards in front of the fire. What was going through her mind? It wasn’t what he thought.

“We’d best get that rug replaced before Byerly Vorrutyer returns from New Sheffield. I’ll ask Fox to see to it. At least it wasn’t a priceless heirloom. It could well have been. Now, Sergeant. What are we going to do with _you_?”

He didn’t much like the sound of that. “Me, my lady? Nothing, I hope.”

“No indeed! That’s not acceptable. When Lieutenant Koudelka saved me and my newborn son I rewarded him with a house. That was from the peril of death. I don’t think my granddaughter would have died, but all the same—”

These people were _mad_. Almost desperately, he tried to protest. “Lady Alys, there’s nothing I need or want. Honestly.”

Her face held the most sinisterly calculating expression. She wasn’t about to listen to him this side of Winterfair. “Your mother is still alive, I believe? A widow, now, like me?”

A widow, yes, but like Lady Alys? His Ma was _nothing_ like Lady Alys. “She’s still alive, my lady. In New Sheffield.”

“Quite so. Would she like to spend the winter on the south coast? Or even in Vandeville? Yes, Vandeville would be just the thing. I’ll organise it immediately. She’ll have a friend she can take along? A sister, maybe, or another relation? Holidays in the sun are so much more enjoyable with a companion, wouldn’t you say?”

It was like being run over by a grav-tractor, or a combat shuttle. He was squashed flat with nothing to say for himself. He could only nod weakly.

“Very well, that’s agreed then, Sergeant, with our deepest gratitude. I’ll get Nicolaides to contact your mother and make all the arrangements. His wife is down in New Sheffield so she can easily call on her. I’m so glad we had this little talk.” She swept out with a warm smile. Walton gaped after her like a stranded fish. _What the hell?_

At least Ma Belka only baked him a cake. That’s about as much as his instinctive reaction _actually_ deserved. He could share a cake around with all the people who would have done the same thing if they’d been there, and that was just about everybody.

The count didn’t say much to him. Walton talked to him in his study that afternoon. It was probably too much for him to sit in the library, in the same seats they’d used the previous day. They sat and stared at each other for a while. Count Voralys just looked…defeated, somehow, sad and weary.

Walton took it upon himself to start the conversation. “You really don’t have to say anything you know, sir. It was just the right time and the right place. I’m only thankful I was there.”

“I was too slow. She’s my daughter and I was too slow.” He clenched his fists in frustration. “I’m useless. I need a keeper.”

This was the perfect opportunity. “Well, sir, if you’re asking, I’d like to apply.”

Count Voralys looked up quickly “You mean that? You’d like to be my armsman?”

“Yes, sir.” Walton felt quite sure. “I’d be honoured to take oath with you.”

It brought a delighted smile to the count’s face. “That’s excellent news. Thank you, Walton. Fox will make all the arrangements for your livery, and your training. What do you say to swearing in at Winterfair? I think the others will be ready then. That seems like the most suitable time. You’re already on the payroll but we’ll adjust the rate to suit your experience.” He stood up to shake hands but realised his mistake immediately. He confined himself to clapping him on the shoulder _._ Fortunately, it was the good one.

“You’re to take a week off, check with Admiral Waleska after that to see if you need more time, and then light duties until those hands are properly healed. Would you like to go down to New Sheffield and see your mother?”

She’d only fuss. He’d tell her over the com. “No, sir, I’ll stay here. I need to go into HQ and sign my discharge papers and maybe buy myself some civilian clothes.” He tried a feeble joke. “I hope I don’t have to account for my combat fatigues.”

The count took him seriously. His sense of humour was toast at the minute. “We’ll see you right, if it comes to that. It’s the least we can do.”

That was the most animation they got out of the count all week. Mademoiselle Vorfolse, Admiral Waleska and Lady Alys all started to wear that worried look again. The count just withdrew from them all. He didn’t attend sessions at the Council of Counts, leaving his voting deputy, Major Vorinnis as Walton was told, to stand in for him. He _did_ make the effort to go to Count Vorrutyer’s wedding, although he was back early. After that, from what Walton could tell he just sank into a black depression. There was nothing _he_ could do about it, although he did try. He’d just have to leave it to his nearest and dearest to sort him out.

Once Walton’s burns were well healed he went off to the ImpSec security course. It seemed mightily strange to be attending as a civilian, now that his discharge had come through. The military was all he had known for his entire adult life. Before, really. He’d joined when he’d just turned eighteen, two years before he officially became an adult.

By the time he got back to Voralys House nothing had changed. The count barely ate. Devaux reported that he didn’t sleep, wandering through the house at all hours of the night. He looked like shit, losing weight again when he’d just started to claw some of it back. Something had to be done.

_Something_ arrived at the house accompanied by two tall armsmen dressed in brown livery. Walton had seen both of them before, in his Ma’s house. Roic was just as tall as he remembered. Pym, taciturn as usual, nodded a greeting and followed the Lord Auditor up the stairs to the landing. Roic stood at the other side of the bedroom door, crossed his arms and prepared to wait.

“This should be interesting,” he commented to Walton, Fox and Harper, who were on duty that morning. They all lingered, just in case they were needed to mop up the blood or fetch some ice. There was nothing to be heard for a while, maybe the odd quiet thump, like someone throwing something and once a raised voice as someone shouted. Just when they started to get concerned there was the wail of high-pitched hysterical laughter, followed at last by the deeper baritone of Count Voralys joining in. Roic relaxed. Pym and Fox wandered back down the stairs, followed by the others.

“Refreshments?” Pym suggested. “Perhaps now would be a good time.” Harper ducked off to the kitchen, leaving Fox, Pym, Roic and Walton all in the hall. Pym held out his hand. “Congratulations, Walton. I heard the news. You’ll make a good armsman. You’re suspicious, which is always a good thing, you know your own mind and you know what honour means. Count Voralys chose very wisely.”

It was pretty unexpected. Walton swallowed hard. “Thank you. It’s been an interesting few weeks, what with one thing and another. Now that I’ve been discharged from the Service I can concentrate on the one job. I intend to do it to the best of my ability.”

Pym nodded. “Nothing else is good enough, after all.” His expression turned grim. “There’s too much at stake.”

 

 

 


	9. Armsman Walton

 

 

Walton didn’t think there could be anything crazier than a High Vor, or more intimidating than Lady Alys, but he rapidly realised his mistake when he met the highest-of-high Vor, Countess and Vicereine, ex-astronomical survey captain, Betan, Cordelia Vorkosigan.

Countess Vorkosigan descended on Voralys House for Madame Vorsoisson’s bridal shower. Her armsmen, Rykov and Kaslyak, with Voralys men’s assistance, carried in enough cryo-boxes, packing cases and dress carriers to stock a medium-sized shop. The dining room was transformed, under her instructions, into a…a…well, he didn’t really know quite what he could call it, except it involved lots of feathers, velvet and leather. He’d had one never-to-be-forgotten leave at Beta colony and spent fifty-two hours at the Orb, and this came pretty close.

Harper, Driscoll and Fox all managed to be elsewhere. Sarmiento drew door duty and Devaux, as usual, was on night duty. That only left Kosa as armsman in charge, with Walton and Price as assistant servers. The other three candidates, Roberts, Newett and McGrath, were on fetch and carry duty and then perimeter patrol with the ImpSec squads after the room had been set up.

The four of them were going to be sworn in together in six days’ time, on Winterfair Eve. With any luck Walton might have got his eyesight back by then. Countess Vorkosigan just didn’t know how to blush. As more of the guests were shown in, with Madame Vorsoisson as guest of honour and Mademoiselle Vorfolse as putative hostess, Walton tried to find some allies. There were four ladies from the Koudelka family. Any assistance from that party was going to be minimal. The only armsmen they brought were the two who escorted the new Countess Vorrutyer. One called Joris refused point blank, after one look, to stand anywhere except _outside_ the dining room door and kept his companion with him, so they were no help. After the Koudelkas, Countess Vorbretten arrived, with her two armsmen shadowing her every move. Walton and Kosa had better luck with these two. They were braver fellows altogether than the Vorrutyer pair and only flinched briefly as they took up station by the tall windows leading to the courtyard. Feathers, waving in the draught, tickled at their ears.

There was a huge ImpSec presence, but they wouldn’t be doing anything other than watching. It wasn’t surprising with the Vicereine’s attendance, but when just before they were due to start even more of their colleagues came in to sweep the house from top to bottom, _again_ , Walton began to feel uneasy. The guard commander was a colonel, no less. That could only mean one thing, and it didn’t take very long for two Vorbarra armsmen to confirm his guess. Countess Vorbarra was coming to play. Lady Alys swept down from upstairs, accompanied by Madame Waleska, who looked slightly overwhelmed, to help greet the high-ranking guest.

That made a total of four countesses, one an Empress and one a Vicereine, a ladyship and six ladies to deal with. Hopefully nine assorted armsmen and almost armsmen could cope with eleven fearsome women, but he wouldn't like to bet on it.

They served Betan cocktails all round. Walton neatly avoided serving Countess Vorbarra or Lady Alys, and he most assiduously avoided making eye contact with _any_ of the ladies. Poor Price took one look and blushed scarlet to the roots of his red hair. He’d obviously never seen anything like the cocktails before and the moment he realised what the ice cubes and the straws actually _looked_ like would have made Walton howl with laughter if he hadn’t been dealing with his own shock. It was Price’s first test and he was found wanting. Kosa sent him off to be kitchen liaison and maybe take a cold shower.

By the time Madame Galeni, Miss Koudelka and Mademoiselle Vorfolse had finished reading passages from the _Lord Vordagger_ books, Walton devoutly wished he could join him. His alarm turned to outright panic when Countess Vorkosigan started dropping hints that she might need a model, both for the ladies’ undergarments and the…implements…she had brought from Beta. _Surely_ he wasn’t going to be obliged to stand there and see Miss Koudelka, or Countess Vorbretten… _oh god_. The Vicereine was waving around a… _oh, dear god_.

He heard Kosa emit a faint, strangled whimper. There really wasn’t anything else he could call it. There was no way he could risk meeting the man’s eye. One of the Vorbretten armsmen had turned very pale, Walton noticed. Nothing seemed to daunt the Vorbarra or the Vorkosigan men. Well, if they could do it, he could do it. They’d just had more practice. Probably lots more practice, where the Vorkosigan armsmen were concerned.

Mademoiselle Vorfolse took pity on them after the ladies all had enough cocktails and hors d’oeuvres. Once they’d laid out the buffet refreshments she sent them off to wait in the ready room until called. She looked a little wide-eyed herself, truth be told. She had her _mother_ in the room, after all. The Vorbarra armsmen didn’t go anywhere, but Countess Cordelia waved her own men away and Countess Vorbretten followed suit.

They still didn’t talk. There was dead silence. They didn’t even move, apart from one of the Vorbretten men who extracted a pink feather from behind his ear and stared at it. Walton hadn’t seen such trauma since his company of Rangers had got the job of mopping up damaged Cetagandan ships at the Hegen Hub. Kosa relieved Sarmiento at the front door and he did his best to cheer them all up. “Just think of the stories you can tell your grandchildren, fifty years from now, when all this is declassified.”

“It’s enough to put you off for life,” Walton said. “I don’t think I’ll ever _have_ grandchildren. Wait here.” He nipped up to his room and brought back his half-empty bottle of whisky. He poured tots all round until the bottle was empty. “For medicinal purposes only. There’s not a man alive that would charge us with drinking on duty after _that_.”

 

It was a relief to change tack and make preparations for Winterfair instead. The count seemed like a changed man after his cousin’s bachelor party. Something must have done the trick as it looked like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. Walton even heard him _whistle_ as he strode around. He’d never done that since Walton had first seen him. An enormous fir tree was brought in, so big that it could only fit in the spiral staircase up to past the second floor level. It was too big even for the ballroom. Miss Marie was just about beside herself with excitement. Walton held her steady on the stepladder as she helped to add ornaments to the lower branches of the tree. Price and Driscoll hung over the staircase railings on safety lines to add the ornaments to the upper section. At last it stood in all its green, red and gold splendour.

“I asked Da if we could have pink, but he said no,” Miss Marie told Walton. “Red is the _tradishnal_ Winterfair colour. I’m going to get a new red dress to wear, and a present from Father Frost. What about you, Walton? What’s Father Frost going to bring you? Price wants a new belt, he said.”

What did he want for Winterfair? He had to think as he lifted her down to the ground again. “You know, Miss Marie, I can’t think of anything I need. Perhaps a new scarf for when I go out in this cold weather? We never got cold when I was on the spaceships.”

“You have to write a letter to Father Frost and throw it on the fire. If it goes up the chimney Father Frost will bring what you want. But _strickly_ only when a grown up is there to help,” she explained. “I’m going to do mine tomorrow, when Da is there to watch. I’m going to make a list.”

He’d love to be a fly on the wall when Count Voralys read her list. He probably didn’t know what he was in for. There’d better be no more kittens on it, that’s all he could say.

As it happened, Walton had just served a tray of traditional hot spiced cinnamon milk to the family in the library when Marie brought out her list. It looked awfully long from where he was standing.

“Da, Papi Simon and me wrote my letter to Father Frost. I told him and he wrote. Do you want to see?”

Lady Alys looked a trifle alarmed when she saw the missive. Her eyebrows drew down slightly. “Papi Simon, it’s not a good idea to encourage greed, you know,” she told him.

Captain Illyan just smiled. “Why don’t you give your list to your Da, Marie? He can read it out,” he suggested.

Count Voralys glanced from Marie to Captain Illyan and back again as he unfolded it. “Dear Father Frost. Thank you for being so kind. I would like an easel for Winterfair, please, for my paintings. I’ve been very good apart from burning Walton and that wasn’t on purpose. My friends are very busy so I’m adding them to my list. Fox would like some maple fudge. Price wants a new belt and Harper wants some boots that aren’t slippy in the ice because he nearly broke his neck. Ma Belka wants another pair of hands but that would make her a mutie so maybe some gloves would do and Driscoll wants to sleep for a week. Walton said he’d like a scarf. I think he should get two presents because he got burned. Pa Belka said his Winterfair came early already so he doesn’t need anything else. He should still get a present though because he’s so nice. Sarmiento wants some gaming credit and Kosa would like some leave.”

It went on. She must have asked all of them what they wanted, even Devaux, whom she hardly ever saw. Walton watched as Count Voralys had to swallow before he could speak. He felt a bit choked up himself. “This is a lovely list, Marie. I’m sure Father Frost will be very happy to get your letter. Let’s watch and see what happens.”

The note burned swiftly and the ashes flew up the chimney on the updraft. Marie clapped her hands. “It did go up, Da!”

“It certainly did. Now, let’s get you up to bed. I’ve just go time to read you a story before I have to go out for dinner with your Uncle Miles. He’s getting married soon.”

“Yes, I’m going to wear my new red dress. There’s going to be more fireworks, even after Winterfair!”

Walton opened the door for them and listened to the conversation as they walked across the hall. “You’ll be fast asleep, sweetheart.”

“Oh no. I’m going to stay wide awake, Da, with my eyes _this_ wide.” She held out her arms as far as she could.

Walton had to smile as he closed the door. Countess Vorkosigan one day, spiced milk and Father Frost the next. The variety in Voralys House was enough to make his head spin.

The count called him into his study the next day, four days before Winterfair. “Sit down, Walton. There are a couple things I need to talk about,” he said. “All the arrangements have been made for your mother to come up from Vandeville the day after tomorrow to watch you take oath. She'll stay overnight in New Sheffield and travel here with the other families. I just wanted you to be very sure this is what you want to do. It’s not too late to back out.”

Walton looked at him. He knew the count was asking all four of them the same thing, but he at least didn’t have to think about it. “I’m quite sure, My Lord Count.”

Count Voralys smiled. “That’s good to hear. I’ve come to rely on you already. Now, there’s another thing. Major Karasavas has released the cash found in your father’s bureau. My secretary brought it up from New Sheffield this morning. There’s a ten percent finder’s reward—”

“No!”

“No? I beg your pardon? Just like that?” He looked very High Vor just then. Walton tried again. “No, my lord. No reward. No, thank you. That money belongs to you, or to the District.”

“Now why did I think you’d say that?” He obviously couldn’t keep up the pretence and his grin broke out again. He wasn’t upset at all. “So, what I propose to do with the money is invite a specialist from Beta to set up a burn trauma reconstruction and plastic surgery unit at New Sheffield General Hospital. He, she or it will train our local people in best management practice and hopefully help to make a dent in the waiting list at ImpMil. Countess Vorkosigan’s mother can put us in touch with the perfect person, apparently. I’ll pay for the specialist and we’ll use your ten thousand to pay the expenses for Darek Belka and his colleagues from the Tanery Base incident, if you approve. They’re not all District men, but they’re his friends and they’re all still waiting. There’s four of them, he tells me.”

Walton opened his hands. “It’s kind of you to ask, sir, but you know that’s the right thing to do with the money. It’s going to benefit a lot of people, not just Darek Belka.”

The count opened his desk drawer and extracted a currency note. “I know you said you wouldn’t accept the ten thousand marks, But Karasavas mentioned you’d never even seen one of these before. I thought you might like just one as a souvenir.”

He handed over a thousand mark note. Walton took it and studied it for a moment. “This is for me, sir, to do whatever I want with?”

The count smiled encouragement. “Yes, you deserve it, Walton. You know how grateful I am to you.”

“I’ve never held one of these. It’s only the second time I’ve ever seen one.” He studied it some more, turning it over in his hands away from Emperor Gregor’s face to see the engraving of Vorhartung castle on the reverse. He handed it back, putting it on the desk in front of the count. “Well, sir, if I can do anything I like with it I want to donate it to the New Sheffield General Hospital burns unit in memory of Bartholomew Walton, Armsman. Was there anything else you needed this morning, sir?”

Count Voralys sighed, put the note away and locked the drawer. “You’re a very stubborn man, Walton.”

“I learned it from my father, my lord.”

 

The day before Winterfair the bustle in the house reached fever point. The ballroom looked magnificent, decorated with silver and blue instead of the normal winterfair colours. Bare oak tree branches had been sprayed silver and made the whole window side of the ballroom look like a Voralys District oak forest in winter. Count Voralys himself stood alone at the head of the room in front of his District standard, in a new House uniform, magnificent with its silver embroidery. He looked solemn as Fox marched in the four candidates, wearing only their boots, dress uniform trousers with the broad silver stripe cutting through the blue and crisp white shirts. Walton looked at the count but another movement caught his eyes.

Chairs ranged in a semi circle of three rows across the middle of the room. Four families held the places of honour. Walton’s Ma had brought his sisters along, which he wasn’t expecting, with their husbands and children. Everyone had kept the surprise. It was the first time he’d seen them since he’d returned to Barrayar. He risked a brief grin in acknowledgement, but his concentration was soon brought back to the man he was about to commit to in a life of service. When his turn came, he knelt and held out his hands, palms together. Count Voralys took them in his own. He felt proud that his voice sounded firm and determined.

“I, Adrian Edward Walton, being honourably discharged from military service to Emperor Gregor Vorbarra, take service under Ivan Xav Vorpatril, Count Voralys, as an Armsman simple, and will hold him as my liege commander until my death or his releases me.”

The count’s hands were cool and firm as he made his own oath.“I, Ivan Xav Vorpatril, Count Voralys, do accept your oath, and pledge you the protection of a liege commander; this by my word as Voralys.”

He released hands and then held out his right for a handshake and to help Walton rise to his feet. After an unspoken message passed between the two of them Walton turned to face his family.

His mother had his armsman’s tunic ready for him, tears streaming down her face. He marched over and she held it out for him, fastening the buttons just as she’d done when he was three years old. She let the palm of one hand rest against his chest, just over his heart. “I’m so proud of you, Adrian. Your father would have loved all of this.”

He grasped her hand. “Yes, Ma, I know.” He smiled and pulled her hand up to kiss it. He turned to greet his sisters, surprised to find his own eyes were wet.

Tables for refreshments ranged across the lower end of the room. They were draped to the floor in dark blue cloths and groaned under loads of silver platters and stands piled with delicacies. Ma Belka had found all the traditional District recipes she could. There were roast birds, studded hams, nut roast logs, fruit sauces, mince pies, syllabubs, trifles and every kind of gingerbread, pastry and cookie known to man. The noise rose to a babble as the new armsmen introduced their families to the count and his family, took vids and holograms next to the District standard and finally, _finally_ relaxed.

Walton stood back a moment to survey the scene. Miss Marie had found his nieces and was just about to introduce them to Princess and Prince Xav. His mother was chatting to Lady Alys and Madame Waleska. His sisters and brothers-in-law stood in awed contemplation of Captain Illyan as he poured drinks for them. Fox sidled up beside him.

“Now, Walton, about the table service tomorrow…”

Walton looked at Fox. “You’re joking.”

Fox’s face broke into a beaming smile. “Yes, I’m joking, _Armsman_ Walton. Happy Winterfair.”

.

 

.

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~~~The End~~~


End file.
